


A Thousand Words in Black and White

by WordsCharacterPlot



Series: Patchwork Family [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: After Iron Man and Thor, Avengers Family, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Made a Different Call, F/M, Natasha Romanov Feels, Not Canon Compliant, Red Room (Marvel), eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-05-13 15:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19253554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsCharacterPlot/pseuds/WordsCharacterPlot
Summary: Natalia Alianova Romanov knew when the American burst into her apartment, there was no more running. Exhaustion and desperation begged her to stop. So she did. She faced death like an old friend. Unfortunately, death couldn't make it, so an idiot with a bow and arrow stopped by instead. In one last attempt to save her life, she handed him a photo to answer his why. The story of Natalia becoming Natasha and why Clint would hesitate to take the shot. A picture's worth a thousand words after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My happy little what if fic. This is NOT canon compliant. At best, it takes the vague plot of Iron Man and Thor off screen. All else is subject to my whims. I have a lot of Nat feels and this is what happens.

Natalia Alianova Romanov, codename Black Widow, did not make it this far in life being stupid and unobservant. As she walked the streets of the run down Russian town, she walked with ease, all while tracking her ever present shadows. There were two groups currently trailing behind. The first, her old employers, was keeping its distance. Both Natalia and the Red Room knew that in just a few months, she wouldn’t be able to resist them. Her latest escape attempt only proved that she was running out of time.

The second was a bit more puzzling. A single man kept to the roofs, just far enough away to stay hidden, even getting lost to her a few times. Natalia knew she had no shortage of enemies. The past year she had made even more, but none of them had this much finesse. 

She slipped in her apartment, tossing her keys on the counter. The man had to be American. Only Americans were dumb enough to venture into KGB territory. Grabbing her laptop, she settled into her favorite lookout corner, a vantage point that allowed her easy access to three exits and sight lights of all the windows and doors.

American meant it was most likely an assassination attempt. CIA was a joke, but she had heard rumors of a shadow government leagues beyond that of the CIA. One that came head to head against the Red Room on a few occasions. She picked up a glossy black and white photo, staring at it for a few moments before tucking it in her shirt. 

No. She didn’t have much time at all.

Clinton Francis Barton, aka Hawkeye, was bored. He shouldn’t be. The mission he was one was crucial and required his entire attention if he didn’t want to end up dead. Yet, something about the risk made him arrogant and lazy. It drove Phil nuts, which made it all the more amusing.

He sighed, watching the target settle in for the night, picking a spot that he would have chosen had he been in her shoes. No clear shots, easy exits, low probability for surprise. The apartment went dark and Clint settled in the nest he made.

“You know,” he drawled into his mic, “If I could just shoot her in the street, it would make my job a lot easier.”

“I’ve already explained the situation several times, Agent Barton,” Phil’s voice filtered through his ear. His own Jiminy Cricket. He snorted at the thought. “Are you going to be okay on this mission?”

His mouth twisted in a grim smile. There was something about this case that didn’t sit well with him and it wasn’t the murder. Clint wasn’t opposed to death. He caused it enough times, the names of victims forever branded in him, and it was what SHIELD paid him for. These people deserved death for the atrocious acts they’ve done. He wouldn’t lose sleep over one crime lord’s death.

And Black Widow had quite a ledger of her own. He read the file cover to cover and then back again. Blood as bright as her hair was dripping from her fingers. So why couldn’t he shake off the trepidation?

“Hawkeye?” There was another pause, “Clint?”

He blinked, shaking his head to clear it, “I’m going in tonight.”

“Another week of surveillance wouldn’t hurt,” Phil suggested, knowing the young archer wouldn’t listen.

“She doesn’t linger in one place long enough. We have to act now before she accepts another job or another group complicates things.” He packed up his bow, hiding it on the roof and took a gun and knife. Leaving his trusty bow was hard, but SHIELD was determined to make this untraced to them.

“Mandatory report at 0500. I hear any shots without confirmation, I bring in the squad.”

“Relax, Phil,” Clint said with a grin, dropping from the roof, “It’s not like this is Belarus all over again.”

“I’d rather you didn’t mention that,” he deadpanned, “I can still pull you out.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hawkeye out.” He turned off the communicator and slipped in the building. Black Widow kept constant watch on the windows, but the apartment complex had visitors entering and leaving all through the night. No one spared him a glance as he moved upstairs.

He picked the lock to her apartment, the door swinging silently. Odd. He expected to at least two deadbolts.

A flash of light, moonlight reflecting off metal, was the only warning he received.

With a swift kick, Natalia shoved the man into her kitchen, the only place in the apartment invisible from the windows. The man reacted quickly, pulling a gun he should have had out in the first place. She crouched, but didn’t engage further, waiting for the gun to go off.

Instead, the man stared. Short spiky hair and eyes that saw more than they should greeted her. She glanced to the windows, hissing, “You have to make this quick. They’ll stop you otherwise.”

Of course they sent an idiot after her. All men were incompetent. Her would be assassin cocked his head in confusion. She growled, louder this time, “Do it!”

Instead the gun lowered. Her sensitive hearing picked up her neighbors beginning to stir and she cursed, Russian spewing from her lips. A minute left. Standing, she walked up to the man, pressing the gun to her chest, “It is what you came to do. If you do not pull it now, you will not get another chance.”

Emotions she did not recognize flitted across his face. Emotions she did not have time for. Her neighbors were getting louder. Only seconds now. Only one thing left to decide.

One moment, Hawkeye was staring at arguably the most beautiful woman ever, listening to her beg for her death, the next he is on his back as shots rang out above him. He barely had time to register that she saved his life before instincts kicked in and he’s grabbing her wrist. 

He began pulling her out of the line of fire when she stood and yelled in Russian at the shooters. Silence followed. Then, inexplicably, she was pulling him along. The door burst open, men spilling into the small apartment. Black Widow didn’t hesitate. She shoved him in the bedroom towards the fire escape, only pausing to grab a bag.

Phil was gonna kill him. Clint might as well let the angry Russians take him. Although, it wasn’t his fault. He had no idea there was another group in play. 

He did hesitate though. Didn’t complete the mission. And caused a firefight. And hasn’t turned on his comms to assure Phil he wasn’t dead. Yep, might as well sign away his life to latrine duty now.

Black Widow tried leading him down, but instead, he took her hand again and pulled her up, “Safer on the roofs. This way.”

He could already hear the lecture about saving the person you were supposed to kill. A few shots ricocheted off the escape and Clint hauled himself onto the roof, breaking into a run as he turned on his earpiece. Phil was mid rant.

“Take a breath, I’m fine. Need an extraction.” He said, his tone clipped.

“Can you make it to the extraction point?” Phil asked, worry lacing his usual professional tone. Clint ran through the scenarios in his mind, before nodding.

“I’ll be coming in hot. Hawk out.” He turned off the comm again, not willing to having Phil in his ear while he made this decision. SHIELD was nice while it lasted. Maybe he could start his own circus.

He paused long enough to look at the Widow. She had stopped and was pulling out a tranquilizer from her arm. It was his turn to curse. Turning, he let off a few shots at the men now coming on the roof.

“How long until you’re out?”

“Two minutes,” she said fluidly, her voice giving away no fear. “They won’t pursue you once I’m in custody.”

Why did she make that sound like a fate worse than death? Just who were these guys??

“Yeah, not gonna happen. I’m Clint Barton by the way,” he gave a cheeky smile, taking out two more men, “Gonna do a crazy trust exercise. I can get you to SHIELD. I can guarantee your safety, offer asylum, but I need you to answer one question and given our situation it’s gotta be a really short and really compelling answer. Why should I?”

He squeezed off a few more warning shots, the men were approaching more cautiously, probably working out ways around to fence them in. The Widow hesitated, slowly pulling out a photo and showing it to him. Well, a picture was worth a thousand words. “Alright, get to that roof. I’m right behind you.”

She didn’t wait, taking off to the building he motioned towards. Yeah, Phil was definitely going to kill him. 

They made it to the roof without incident, but he could tell the tranquilizer was taking over. Her movements were slowing, her reactions a hair off. He grabbed his bow and bag that he stowed, slinging it over his shoulder, “I’m gonna carry you the rest of the way, I can’t risk you passing out while we’re running. Do me a favor and don’t slit my throat.”

He turned on his comms again and picked her up, trying not to think about how he could feel her bones and the calculating look in her eyes. He took off running again, “Phil?”

“Turn off your comms again and you’ll be assigned to watch the latrines for the next year,” his handler responded.

“Aww, you do care.”

“Status report Barton.”

Now unable to fire back, the shots were coming alarmingly close to his person, aimed for the ground, oddly enough. “Well, I got about half a dozen angry Russians after me.”

“Can you lose them?” He asked. Clint heard typing on the end of the line.

He grunted as he jumped the gap between two buildings. This was a lot easier when it was just him. Sparing a glance at his hitchhiker, he noticed her eyes were closed. Either knocked out or plotting ways to kill him. Wouldn’t be the first time, honestly, “Unlikely. Could use a hand. ETA 30 seconds.”

Which meant he had about a minute to come up with something really good to save his career. A bullet burned through his leg and he hissed, pushing forward. 

As soon as he landed on the roof for extraction, SHIELD agents returned fire, downing each man within seconds. He let out a laugh, walking into the hidden plane. Phil stood to greet him, raising an eyebrow at the woman in his arms. Clint bought a few more moments by settling her in a bunk bolted to the side of the plane.

“Agent, explain,” Coulson said, his voice hard and unyielding.

Clint sighed, sitting and allowing the medic to look at his leg. One fight at a time, “Why was I assigned this mission? You could have had Rumlow or Smith take this. You know what happened. You’ve been gauging my reaction ever since you gave me the file. What the hell are you and Fury playing at?? Did you hope I wouldn’t notice? Or just figured I wouldn’t care?”

Because running and nearly dying always seemed to bring clarity. He knew now what had been bothering him about this mission. Phil’s shoulders dropped and he took a step forward as the plane readied for take off, “Clint, this isn’t about you.”

“Really? Lying to me now, Coulson? That’s pretty low for you,” he barked out a laugh, waving off the medic sharply, “Why was termination the outcome of this mission?”

“You know why. She’s a threat.”

“So was I.”

“It’s different,” he said, but Clint could hear the hesitation.

“I know the file. Her life makes mine look like a cake walk. If anyone deserves a second chance, it’s her,” he argued. Phil looked at him resigned.

“We had no intelligence saying she would turn. All the Red Room recruits encountered in the past have proven unsuccessful at rescue.” He didn’t need to explain this. It had been in the briefing, yet here they were with Black Widow passed out in the plane. Clint sunk into his seat, crossing his arms, pushing back the throbbing in his leg, “What happened in the apartment, Clint?”

His tone was softer now, asking as a friend, one that has pulled Clint from the depths of hell and offered him a lifeline. But now, he looked at the girl he was sent to kill and all he saw was the six year old trained to kill. How different was the circus kid? Well, he wasn’t willing to let it go just yet, “I’ve offered her asylum. If SHIELD doesn’t allow it, you’ll have my report and badge after we land.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Coulson,” Director Fury greeted the man, not looking away from the screen in his office.

“Director,” Phil closed the door, pushing a button on the side that ensured listening ears were kept out, “I assume the scuttlebut has reached your desk.”

“Didn’t have to. I watched your boy bring in the Black Widow as if she was some stray off the streets myself,” he turned to him now, a permanent scowl gracing his features, “Care to explain that?”

“He made the same call I did,” he said, his tone level. Phil Coulson didn’t often agree with his newest agent, but he was not one to rake him over the coals for a mistake. If this truly was a mistake, “Why did we not consider extraction? She could be an incredible asset.”

“We went over that reasoning before you left on this mission. I don’t care to repeat the same conversation.”

The slightest frown appeared, “And yet, she willingly went with him.”

“That remains to be seen,” Fury pointed out, “considering she was unconscious when he brought her in.”

Coulson sighed and placed Hawkeye’s report on his desk. It was early for once. “I think she deserves a chance sir. Agent Barton saw something and took a risk. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Stunts like this aren’t acceptable. He doesn’t get to make those calls on his own.”

“With all due respect sir, our agents are asked to create on the fly decisions in the field,” Phil straightened, “There was not enough time for him to report back to me and get out. You asked him for this mission for a reason and part of it was his ability to see more than what is given.”

Fury didn’t speak, pulling the file he brought in and flipping through the pages. “Insubordination is still insubordination.”

“Agent Barton is well aware of the consequences of his actions,” There was a slight quirk of his lips, “He turned in his badge with the report.”

He raised an eyebrow, “We don’t accept resignations until two weeks after a mission.”

“I’m aware of that, sir.”

A chuckle escaped and he shook his head, “You know the drill then. They’re your responsibility.”

Phil stood, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. Fury called out just as he grabbed the handle, “Try not to make a habit of this, Coulson.”

“Stop bringing you your best agents?” he asked with a grin, “I’ll do my best, sir.”

*~*~~**~*~*~*~*~*

Natalia anticipated several things when she awoke: handcuffs, disorientation, and imprisonment. She was right about two of those. 

She sat up on her bed and took stock of her surroundings. The room was a simple square, two cameras pinned in the corners, ensuring no blind spot without tampering. There was the bed she was on and a table and chairs. Nothing obvious to use as weapons but she could fashion several things in a pinch. The cameras were an issue but not much. 

The question was whether she wanted to escape. She had accepted death but the American, Clint, offering sanctuary changed things. Right? Could she even entertain the possibility of safety?

The door opened and she tensed as a man in a suit entered. He didn’t offer a smile as he sat and motioned to the chair in front of him.

She stood and took the chair, offering no thought or emotion in her features as he slid a packet to her, “My name is Agent Phil Coulson, I’m Agent Barton’s handler.”

Natalia didn’t speak, only sparing a glance at the papers in front of her. The agent continued, “Barton already gave his report of the events leading to bringing you here but I’m eager to hear yours.”

She raised a delicate eyebrow, still waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Coulson waited a moment, then sighed, “I can only help you so much as you’re willing. Clint offered you asylum and I’m working to ensure that. This packet can be your new identity but we need something in return to show trust.”

She pulled the packet closer, scanning the first page. Natasha Romanoff. She let the name swirl around in her mind for awhile and then nodded. If they were not going to kill her, then she would accept their protection, meager as it would be. 

“What do you want to know?”

The agent relaxed, barely perceptible to the untrained eye, “First and foremost, how you convinced my best agent to spare your life and risk his to get you on our plane.”

She shrugged, “I told him to kill me. He didn’t tell me why.”

“Who was the group after you?”

“My previous employers,” she paused, working through the risks and outcomes of this conversation, “I could provide information but as you said, I need...guarantees.”

“Hard to guarantee anything without knowing the requests and information you provide,” Coulson said slowly, making no attempt to hide his study of her. She leaned back in her seat, perusing the papers in front of her, stopping at the agent application. 

Her eyes flicked to his, narrowing slightly. He answered her silent question, “You should ask Agent Barton how he became an agent. Check out the papers. I’ll send Barton with some food.”

It was barely 30 seconds after the agent closed the door when Clint Barton entered with a tray of food, pushing the door closed with his heel.

"Wasn't sure what you liked, so got everything. Plus, I'm hungry too." He slipped into the unoccupied seat and she looked at the food warily. Clint leaned back, picked up a few french fries and stuffing them in his mouth, "Also brought you some books. Confinement is boring."

She picked up food closest to her, aware that it's been at least 24 hours since she last ate. "You were in confinement?"

"When they first recruited me, yeah. Had to pass SHIELD tests and all that, prove I wasn't gonna murder them in their sleep," he said with a shrug, pulling some books from his bag and putting them on the table. 

She eyed the books, titles from the bag she took from her apartment. Did Barton take it to keep it from SHIELD? Or to use it as blackmail? Her eyes narrowed, "You did the Kwolsky mission. Codename Hawkeye."

He grinned, all teeth and bite and danger, eyes glinting seeing more than the dumb facade he offered, "Was there a question in that?"

She met his gaze, undaunted by the haunted darkness in them. Her own eyes probably mirrored them. She heard rumors of the assassin that took a page from history. He was a ghost, leaving only an arrow behind. Well, she was used to dealing with ghosts, "Why?"

"Why arrows? Picked it up as a carnie. Kinda fun, makes killing less real. Why that mission? It was a job. Got paid pretty well." He shrugged, eating some more.

"Why here?" Did SHIELD often reform assassins? What was their technique? The man before her clearly had memories intact, so a chair similar to the Red Room was out of the question. Lobotomy was too messy. It rendered people useless. Perhaps they produced a new chemical.

"Phil asked."

"And that was it?"

He laughed, "Nah. Told him off. Wanted nothing to do with his super secret spy club. But he said I wouldn't have the stomach to finish the job when I knew there was an out. He swore that if I joined, I could start working off the guilt."

"You didn't finish the job." He had red in his ledger, an insurmountable list of names that stuck to the skin and burned. Perhaps she was not the only one to give way to the thought of hope, to pretend there was a way to sleep easier at night.

"Couldn't," he said, "Phil was right. I joined SHIELD with a chip on my shoulder and an attitude a mile wide. Busted out of confinement after a month. This place ain't perfect, but..."

But it was a step in the right direction. Her eyes drifted to the file, the offer of a new life, then to the cameras in the corner. She grinned, "I wouldn't mind wiping out some red in my own ledger."

"Welcome to crazy town, Natasha Romanoff."

A speaker crackled above them, "Agent Barton, Director Fury wishes to speak with you."

He groaned, sinking further into his chair like a petulant child, "I'm off duty."

"Now, Barton."

He huffed, "Fine, fine."

With a cheery wave, he slipped through the door. Natasha Romanoff ate her fill and sat back on the bed with the two books Clint brought. She settled in with her back to the wall and opened the books to blacked out pages. A few words escaping inky death. She frowned. Not her copies then, these were in English. She flipped through the pages, the barest hint of a smile on her lips as a message bled through. She may not know friendship when she saw it, but Clint Barton was definitely an ally.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Natasha Romanoff rolled her shoulders, completely at ease with the one-eyed man doing his best to unnerve her. He hadn't spoken since he entered her confinement, taking a seat and motioning that she do the same. He needed no introduction. Clint rambled often enough about his coworkers that she could pin them by sight alone. She wondered if she should be impressed.

Director Nicholas J. Fury did not make house calls to new recruits. 

If you could call this a house call. He was the one holding her captive, after all. She leaned forward on her hands, meeting his hard gaze lazily. She wouldn't be the first to speak. He came to her.

"My best agent wants to recruit you, Ms. Romanov."

She grinned, "So I've been told."

"Nothing you've offered has convinced me this is a wise decision." He spoke like a spy, one that was full of double meanings and half truths. Too early to tell if she could add him to her ally list.

"Other than the fact that you're not dead right now?" It wasn't a threat, but a reminder. The only way they could ensure that she wasn't deadly would be to sedate her. She already fashioned a few weapons under her mattress in the week she had been here. 

"Sleepers don't strike immediately."

"No," she agreed, "They slip in undetected and wait for orders. Your house doesn't need more sleepers. I'm offering information."

"As long as we don't record it officially." His eye narrowed.

"I wouldn't want to wake anyone up with my words," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes sharp. Fury frowned, then nodded.

"Follow me," he stood, his ridiculous coat swirling around him. The door buzzed open and he held it out to her. He wasn't about to put her at his back. Smart. 

Silently she slipped through the door, instantly looking for exit points and layouts. It was just a plain hallway, most likely one of a dozen. Tensing at the hand on her back, she allowed Fury to lead her downstairs, opening a windowless room.

Coulson nodded at her, sitting at a metal table that matched the one in her room. No cameras dotted the corners but they could be hidden. Fury joined Coulson and waved at the chair in front of them. She sunk in.

"This is a jammer," Coulson slid the device in between them, "Destroying any possible recording, audio or visual."

She carefully intertwined her fingers, placing them on the table, "What do you want to know?"

"How much information you're willing to provide and what you're asking for in return." Coulson said simply, a pad of paper in front of him, pen at the ready.

"And who the sleeper agents are," Fury growled. 

She shrugged, "I don't have specific names. You're foolish to believe you don't have rats in your house. I can offer you all information on the Red Room and KGB. In return, protection and a medical team I can hand select."

"You want to be an agent?" Coulson asked. It was a question she had been asking herself the past week, rolling it around in her mind. Her true reason was her own, but she could afford some vulnerability.

"I want to burn the Red Room to the ground." It wasn't a swearing of allegiance. No one in this room would believe that, but it was as close to the truth as they would get.

"Then let's get started."

Natasha didn't hold back. She gave them her entire history in a detached tone, ignoring the winces and pity lingering in the back of their gazes. Told them of children, girls, twisted and molded into weapons. Told them of punishments and trainings and death. Her voice holding the darkness and pain and cold that shaped her childhood, her life. There was only one discrepancy in her story, one thing she wasn't ready to give up, though she wouldn't be able to keep it for long.

Hours passed and both the men before her were more grim than when they entered. Fury suddenly stood, nodding to Coulson, and left. She arched an eyebrow and he sighed, "That was more than we expected, Ms. Romanoff. More than enough to secure your immunity and protection here. If I may ask, why the med staff?"

She smirked, "I promised Barton he'd be in the room when I told you."

Coulson opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head, "Later. I can show you to the barracks. You'll stay there for training and evaluation like all recruits. You're a few weeks behind in the current class, but I have a hard time believing you can't catch up."

"How long is the training?"

"Six months."

"You're not going to want me around them," she stated, resisting the urge to stretch her stiff muscles. 

"Oh?"

"I suggest you call for Barton," she said with a shrug. His eyes narrowed, years of experience with Clinton Francis Barton forcing him to stand and follow what sounded suspiciously like an order. He really needed a vacation.

Thirty minutes later, he was back in the room with an overexcited archer. The former Russian hadn't moved an inch, examining her nails as if she were waiting on a park bench, not an underground bunker in a secret government facility.

"Can I record this? Aw man, I hoped Fury would be here." Clint bounced on his heels, light in his eyes, but Phil knew him too well. Clint watched Romanoff carefully, like he would watch someone with his bow.

Natasha gave a lazy smile, "Hello Barton."

"Hey Nat. You tell him yet??"

"I promised to wait for you," she shrugged, then looked at Phil, causing a shiver running down his spine.

"Let's hear it then," Phil said, resigning himself to whatever she may tell him. Honestly, what could she offer that was more startling than her history?

"I'm pregnant."

Well, there's that.


	3. Chapter 3

"Pregnant?" Coulson sputtered, any semblance of control slipping through his fingers.

"With twins," Barton offered helpfully. Natasha smirked, enjoying the utter confusion and helplessness on the agent's face. Her eyes flicked to Barton, surprised he had caught on to the twins with the picture she showed him. Perhaps there was something to his codename after all.

"Twins," he repeated, blinking slowly. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

When she offered no explanation, Hawkeye humbly stepped up, "Well, when a man and woman love each other very much-"

"Not that Barton," he said, his tone bland and expressionless. The archer simply grinned wider. He turned to her, control settling back in place, "Explain."

Natasha did not spend the last year fighting tooth and nail for her own humanity to not enjoy this, she mirrored Clint's expression and tone, "When a Russian group loves weapons very much with no way to recreate them, they look for creative solutions, namely the only two viable subjects left. I killed the other girls."

Clint sniggered, shutting up at the baleful glare his handler sent his way, “Our records indicate that you haven’t been with them for nearly a year.”

“And what do your records indicate from two months ago?” She leaned forward, her voice a razor edge, her eyes flinting. 

Coulson blinked, a slight twitch to his hand, the most he would show of his agitation, "Who's the father? We don't have record of any serum enhanced except for the Widows."

"It could be clones," Barton suggested, again ever so helpfully. There was a sting to his humor, defense mechanism, she guessed and filed the information away for later perusal. 

"It's not," she said with a shrug, "I don't know his name."

That wasn't strictly true, but the men in front of her were not skilled enough to pick up on the lie, "Didn't offer that before getting into bed with you?"

She settled for a glare, though her fingers twitched for something sharp and deadly, "There are other ways to get pregnant that ensures more...control to those orchestrating this play."

The room dropped ten degrees at the implication. Natasha knew better than to let her emotions rule her response, but she wouldn't tarnish his name like that. She wouldn't tolerate any suggestion that this was wanted on either side. Coulson cleared his throat, "Do you have any information about him? We could work on tracking him, getting him out if that's what he wanted."

There was little hope of that. "Swear you will not issue a kill order."

"I cannot guarantee that Ms. Romanoff. Not without knowing who I'm theoretically pardoning."

"Then you will get nothing from me." She would guard him. She would guard him and their past with every fiber of her being. It was the very least she could do. The agent spared a glance to Barton, who shrugged and offered no input. Smart man.

"Very well," he relented, "We have a dedicated team of medical staff, but I doubt any are equipped for this sort of situation. You're welcome to any of them. Any outside doctors would have to be approved before coming on base. I'm assuming your previous employers are itching to get you back?" She nodded, he continued, "Without an agent application and training, I'm afraid we can't offer much. We can keep you on as a consultant, your expertise is obvious, but that wouldn't secure you a place on base.

"I can complete the six month training," she said, eyes narrowing at him. He met her gaze and raised an eyebrow, so she added, "With flying colors."

"We can't send a pregnant agent in the field."

Clint snorted, "Like you're gonna send her out within the next year anyways. Or was that just me that had the 'probationary period'?"

Coulson looked between them, then met Natasha's cold gaze without hesitation, "You want to be an agent and knowingly leave your infant children while you go on a revenge filled world tour?"

"Better than having them with me."

"Come on, Phil. I got a spare room. I wanna see her terrorize the new recruits," he whined.

He let out a long, long sigh, one that spoke of many late nights of dealing with Clint's antics and many late nights to come to deal with Natasha's antics. "I'll be in my office. You're restricted to base and on probation until further notice. That means you cannot carry a weapon. I'll stop by tomorrow and show you to the trainings."

He walked out without another word, letting the door click behind him. Barton grinned wide and cheesy, "Welcome to SHIELD."

She waited a moment, head tilted slightly to the side as she strained to hear footsteps or breathing through the thick concrete. Barton continued talking, a specialty of his, "So, I know you don't wanna tell Phil, which I get. He's a good guy, but it took me nearly dying to accept that. He's not gonna spill secrets that aren't his though. But I gotta know, who's the dad? Our intelligence says only girls were trained in the Red Room but they probably weren't the only ones experimenting right? I mean-"

Stopping Clint Barton's rant wasn't a difficult task. One moment he's spewing nonsense, the next Natasha has a makeshift blade at his throat. He yelped, but she didn't draw blood. When the door didn't burst open with agents and guns, she slowly pulled back.

"You know, telling me to shut up works just as well." 

She went back to her seat, slipping the jammer into her pocket. It seemed they were being true to their word. Or they found Barton expendable. Unlikely given his assignment to kill her. "You said you had a room for me?"

"Right," he stood, acting as though she hadn't nearly killed him. His eyes were sharper though, trailing her movements, keeping her close enough to subdue if needed but far enough to escape should she attack. Smart man, she mused again.

He led her to his quarters, a simple suite with two bedrooms, one bath. There was an open layout with the kitchen and living area, all with cool gray decor and very little personality. Opening the first door, he said, "This is yours. I put your bag in the corner. Phil saw me take it but didn't mention it. Figured you didn't want anyone pawing through it."

Her eyes scanned the room and nodded, turning to Barton, "I suppose I should say thank you."

"It's nothing," he shrugged as she stepped toward him, "Just don't let Phil catch you with any weapons that may or may not be in your bag."

Natasha put a hand on his chest, looking up through her eyelashes, "It's everything. It's my life. The life of my children."

"You," he blinked as she tugged him forward to the bed. His brain seemed to finally catch on and he shook his head, "No, no. Let's not go there."

The slightest wrinkle appeared between her eyes. No one said no to the Black Widow, “I must repay your offer somehow.”

She let her hand trail down his chest and watch his eyes contract. There was attraction, no denying it, but he still caught her hand and pulled away, “Not like that. You owe me nothing.”

“I owe you everything.” Why was he being so stubborn about this? Natasha could not allow such a debt hang between them, not if they were to work together in the future.

He took another step backward, desire and determination swirling in a conflicting mass in those silver eyes, “You said you had red in your ledger. I’m the same. Me saving you? It was to ease that debt, not for you or anyone else. You made the choice to get here. You owe me nothing.”

Without another word, he walked out, swinging the door shut between them. She huffed, anger at the rejection, but also confusion and...respect? She padded over to her bag, opening and checking its contents. Nothing had been removed. The necklace that hung around her neck for over a year had been carefully placed on top. Surely he would have questioned her about the photograph inside had he peeked.

Unable to piece together the puzzle that was Clint Barton, Natasha slipped the necklace back around her neck and continued her inspection of her new home. It wasn’t much. Escape routes were limited but not impossible. There were plenty of places to stash the weapons she held in her bag. 

It would do.

Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out dyes and brushes. Her hands grazed over the scissors but left them there. It would be easier in the bathroom, but her room was not connected and going out to deal with the chatter was not preferable. Natasha pulled out a small mirror and clothes she didn’t mind dirtying. Presumably, she’d be receiving new clothes anyways. 

Sinking to the floor, she surveyed the colors in front of her. Part of her would mourn the natural red, the color she worn since her first escape, a beacon but also a warning. She shook her head. First impressions were important. With that in mind, she picked up the bleach.

Blonde was such a stereotyped color. Natasha could work with stereotypes. It would offset the rumors already flying through the base. Blonde would also give her anonymity on the streets. Blonde it is.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A knock on the door stilled Natasha Romanoff’s exercise and drew her to the door. Clint had yet to stir despite already being 0600. She opened the door to Phil Coulson. His eyes raked over her, taking in her pin straight blonde hair, pulled into a high ponytail, and clever makeup that dulled the green in her eyes. 

He raised a single eyebrow, “For future reference, all drastic appearance changes must be approved by a superior officer.”

“And who would be my superior officer?” she asked, flashing a dangerous smile.

“In the meantime, and possibly until my own circle of hell freezes over, that would be myself, Ms. Romanoff.” He handed her a folder, “Here is your schedule and map of the facilities. The highlighted routes are not suggestions. You are not permitted off base without supervision. Until further notice, adequate supervision includes only myself or Director Fury. Do I make myself clear?”

“I need time to secure medical staff that would require me to leave base.”

“I set some time aside this afternoon,” he said, turning on his heel as he continued, “No one outside myself, Director Fury, and Agent Barton are familiar with your past or current situation. We have included you in the newest recruit group, but all favor stops there. I am escorting you this morning but this is a one time situation.”

“How do I secure appropriate SHIELD gear?” She glanced through the papers as they walked. She was dressed in a simple black workout outfit. It made due. Black hid most of the stains, but she could use an extra set anyway. Out of the corner of her eye, Coulson faltered, looking at her, before moving on.

“Agent Barton is in charge of procuring the appropriate gear for you,” he gave a wry smile, “I’ll ensure he gets it today.”

They stopped outside a door labelled ‘Training’. Phil turned fully toward her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Good luck, recruit.”

A feral grin worked its way on her face as she gave a nonchalant shrug and pushed through the door. Natasha Romanoff was a flame, despite hiding it, and would burn through whatever thrown at her.


	4. Chapter 4

By lunch, Natasha secured herself away from the new recruits she had been forced to mingle with and found a table in the back. It wasn’t ideal, but of the room, it offered the most advantage. Getting food in a public place was a huge risk, but she had little choice. Once seated, she sprinkled a powder that would neutralize most poisons.

Just as she was crushing a neonatal vitamin in her drink, the chair across from her scraped and became occupied, “Building up immunity to poison?”

She glanced up at the brunette in front of her. Low level threat. Uniform indicates desk job of some type. Fit, but not overly athletic. Possible training minimal.

“So sorry!” she exclaimed, offering a timid smile, “That probably sounded super shady. I meant the oatmeal. No one ever touches the stuff. I’m pretty sure it’s the same batch from my first day six months ago.”

Natasha took a bite, ignoring the wrinkle of disgust from the girl across from her. Honestly, Americans were so soft. “Right. I’m Laura by the way.”

Did all Americans talk so much? Still, Laura was much more attuned than Barton. She didn’t shove conversation on her. After providing her name, she focused on her lunch as if the silence was between two companions and not strangers.

Unfortunately, Clinton Francis Barton was not a man of few words or taking hints. “Hey Laura Lee. Hey not-so-red. How’s your first day?”

She finished her oatmeal and cut up her apple with a knife from her sleeve, “I’m not allowed to break bones during training apparently.”

“You mean the rumor about you breaking Davies’ wrist is true?” Laura asked, drawing both assassins’ gaze. Natasha shrugged. It had been awhile since she had to check her strength against an opponent. He was lucky it was just a bone. It served as a reminder to be quicker in defense.

“What about Russell? Just a pinky bone or something. Take him down a peg or two.”

Laura rolled her eyes, Natasha gave a sharp grin, “They didn’t say anything about ligaments.”

“SHIELD is doomed. There’s two of you now.”

Clint smiled, taking an overly large bite of pizza then proceeding to speak around it, “C’mon Laura, ya like me.”

“As much as one likes the stink of their feet,” she drawled. Picking up her tray, she threw a conspiratory wink to her, “After all, who wouldn’t like the Amazing Hawkeye?”

Clint narrowed his eyes at her retreating form, “That sounded like an insult. I’m gonna be insulted, just on principle.”

Natasha watched her leave. Possible ally. It was difficult to assess with such a brief encounter. She turned on Barton with narrowed eyes. He visibly swallowed, “Did you send her over?”

“Huh? Nah. That’s just Laura. She sat with me my first week too,” He shrugged as if the mysteries of the understanding women were beyond him, “She’s got a sharp mind. Here as an analyst, not a field agent.”

Interesting. An analyst would be useful to have as an ally, especially one in SHIELD’s employ. She would make a better effort in building a relationship with the woman next time. She cast a glance at Barton again, noticing his lingering eyes on the departing agent. Perhaps Natasha could also arrange to pay back a portion of her debt to him as well. Clint Barton may have refused her, but she doubted he would refuse an offer from Laura.

“What’s her last name?”

“Phillips,” he said, taking a moment for his brain to catch up, “Hey, no, don’t go super spy on her. She’s clean.”

“And how would you know that?” she asked, raising a brow. “Because SHIELD only employs trustworthy people? Because sleepers don’t exist? Because she’s pretty to look at?”

Clint sputtered, then frowned, “So basically, I shouldn’t sleep at night? Look, I get it’s easy to mistrust the people around here. We’re all working in the gray, but some people ...there are some good people.”

He placed Phil Coulson high on that list no doubt. And now this Laura Phillips. She cut off another piece of her apple, “You haven’t had anyone try to kill you recently then.”

“The bullet wound in my leg speaks otherwise,” he snarked, eyes flashing.

She met his dark gaze without hesitation, “Getting injured because you’re too idiotic to complete your mission is not the same as having a target on your back, Hawkeye. Perhaps I was mistaken to believe you understood the difference.”

Her knife disappeared and with all the grace she could muster, she stood and slipped from the room before he could respond. 

The afternoon was spent in mind-numbingly easy classes. Classes she could have breezed through as a five year old. While she knew not everyone had her experience or training, she cast doubtful and judgmental glances at the few out of breath or sorely lacking. Is this the best Americans had to offer?

Feeling utterly bored, Natasha slipped back into Barton’s quarters at 2, hoping to change and shower before searching for a clinic with Agent Coulson. The apartment was quiet, which meant Clint wasn’t in it. Considering he was off duty for the moment, she had expected him here to ambush her. Like a flea, he had yet to leave her side unless absolutely necessary, allowing her no room to breathe. Perhaps he finally found something better to do. She shrugged it off and opened her room. 

A large box sat on her bed with a note reading clothes. With a small grin, Natasha dug through it, pleased to find wigs and various other disguises inside as well. She was fixing the black wig in place when Coulson appeared at her door.

“Some would consider two appearance changes in a 24 hour period on the paranoid side,” he commented drily.

“The same would be dead in my world.” She slung her duffel bag on her shoulder. “Do you own anything other than a suit?”

“I’ll stay out of public view.” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“It’ll do for now.” Without waiting for permission, she strode past him, making her way to the exit. Once outside, Coulson kept his distance, even taking different streets, confirm her suspicion of a tracker on her clothing or shoes. Despite the relative safety she found in SHIELD, she could not stop the thought of escape. It would be so easy to do.

Shaking her head, Natasha stepped inside a clinic.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clint was waiting for her when she arrived from the clinic with a fresh photo and new wig. “Hope you gave Phil a good walk. He gets cranky when it’s too short.”

“And here I was hoping the silence would last longer.” She gently pulled off the wig and removed her duffel bag from under her shirt. “I’m not here to make friends Barton.”

He rolled his eyes, sliding a folder over to her, “I get it, okay? I know the difference. I spent my first year sniping at anyone that got close. Phil had to rewrite protocols so I didn’t end up in so many dumpsters. I ain’t preaching on how ‘good’ these people are, but there are a few safe ones.”

Natasha glanced at the folder, seeing ‘Laura Phillips’ printed on top, then met his gaze with a quirk of her eyebrow. He shrugged, “If it works for you, have at it. I know you’re not about to spread anything on the internet.”

Standing, he stretched and grabbed his bow, twirling an arrow in his fingers, “See you at dinner.”

Her fingers grazed the manilla folder, tracing the string that tied around undoubtedly psych reports and personal history and every transaction Laura Phillips ever made. She tapped it thoughtfully, her gaze drawn to the photograph in her hand. Proof that her life could mean more than the death tally. She couldn’t believe in ‘good’, but safe...she could barter with safe.

And Clint Barton, despite his flaws and quirks and annoyances, was safe. She tossed the folder in her room and went out in search for a gym before dinner.

Laura was waiting at her table when she arrived, freshly showered and in a better state of mind. She waved her over and Natasha sunk into her seat.

“You don’t mind that I sat here, did you?” she asked, “I only ask cuz Clint was not subtle about his ways of telling me off the first few months, not that it stopped me, but you haven’t sent any death glares my way, so I’m going with you tolerate me at least.”

“Why do you sit here?” she asked in lieu of answering, using her knife to slowly cut an apple as she watched the agent in front of her, “Why attach yourself to Barton?”

“He was lonely,” she said with a slight tilt to her head, allowing the implication of the same to Natasha. “Everyone needs at least one person who walks through the fire with them. My file probably explains my intense need to fix things.”

“Your file.” Her tone fell flat and gaze grew cold. Laura simply blinked at her, unphased.

“Yeah. Clint asked if he could give it to you. I don’t mind. I even helped him break out the unredacted version.” She shrugged as if she hadn’t offered a psychoanalysis of her life to a deadly stranger, “If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

“I didn’t read it.”

“I don’t mind,” she repeated. An obvious lie. Natasha made it clear she wasn’t convinced by raising an eyebrow. She conceded, “Alright, maybe a little. No one likes airing their dirty laundry. And I’ve got a sob story, same as everyone here, but I trust you with those secrets. When I say I don’t mind, you have my permission, for whatever it’s worth.”

Natasha did not need her permission. She didn’t even need Clint’s. It hadn’t stopped her from reading Barton’s file cover to cover or Coulson’s file. And while she hasn’t been able to hack Director Fury’s yet, she had contacts that had provided bits of his history.

So what made this time so different?

Laura was smiling at her, a picture of complete ease and trust. Either she was a much better liar than Natasha had originally assumed or the insufferable Barton was right about her. She pursed her lips. Even the thought tasted bitter. 

This was not the Red Room, she reminded herself and stood, beckoning Laura in a silent gesture. 

Confusion made the kind smile falter, but she followed, reinforcing her assurance of trust. When was the last time someone trusted her with such knowledge? When was the last time someone followed the Black Widow without a gun at her back? She shook her head and went back to her room. She picked up the unopened file, looking back at the girl in question who lingered in the living room.

“You live with Clint? I’m so sorry.” Laura gave a sympathetic grimace. “At least it looks like he’s contained his biohazard to his room.”

“He makes up for the lack of mess through noise.” She came back out with the file.

“Yeah, he never shuts up, does he?” she said with a fond exasperation. Laura took notice of the file and frowned, “So, I don’t mind you reading it, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t do it in front of me.”

She rolled her eyes as the door opened and Clint entered, sweaty and cross. He took in the two woman and threw a feral smirk their way, “Am I missing out on the slumber party?”

Natasha ignored him and handed Laura the file, “Keep it.”

They both blinked at her, eerily at the same time. She raised an eyebrow at Laura, who hesitantly reached out and took the file, “I really don’t mind.”

“Clint says you’re safe. I’ll take his word for it.” For now. She may not be the person she was in the Red Room or even the one fresh from her escape, but she wasn’t idiotic.

“That’s….”

She shrugged off the befuddlement of those around her, ignoring the slight narrowing of Clint’s eyes. Hiding the grin, she continued, “Besides, I’ll need more people I can use as babysitters once the kids get here.”

Clint was right. Telling people never got old.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated weekly like I was supposed to because I'm garbage at schedules. But have some lighthearted fluff. I'll even post another chapter Friday. Promise!

Her joints groaned as she stretched and moved. Natasha didn’t get much of a work out with the so called training but SHIELD had a gym. She spent hours there, slowly beating records of top agents much to their chagrin. It was amusing to watch people’s faces when they realize their score or time had been knocked off the top. And since she wasn’t an agent, she was listed as Recruit 697 on the boards.

Stepping into the apartment, she froze. Laid out like a buffet were twenty different take out containers, popcorn, candy, and a slew of DVDs offered as a sacrifice. Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at Clint, who was grinning broadly.

“Welcome to Clint Barton’s school of functional adulthood!”

“You’re not a functional adult,” Laura snarked as she came out of the kitchen with a cake, “This is overboard, even for you.”

He pouted for a moment, then brightened, “That’s because I never went through this very important training and now must figure things out the hard way.”

“You mean by crashing through life?” she asked, setting the cake down and wiping her hands. She grinned at Natasha who still stood in the doorway.

“All for the greater good,” he nodded solemnly, “So that I may impart wisdom to the masses.”

“I was actually going to soak in a bath and rest,” Natsaha interjected before Laura could continue arguing with him, “So, thank you, but…”

“Don’t leave me alone with this disaster of a human being,” she cried, “One quick shower, then movie marathon and snack attack.” 

She rolled her eyes as Clint frowned, “I’m a delight to be around, so screw you Phillips. And she’s right, you’ve been hiding in your room all week. So join the fun or sulk in the dark.”

Pursing her lips, Natasha stalked to her room and took a breath as the door closed between them. As it did so, she heard Laura whisper to Clint, “Did we push too hard?”

How did she end up with these two hopelessly bright and happy individuals in her circle of influence? They were optimistic and full of life and, despite Clint’s own ledger, had an air of innocence and kindness. It was unlooked for, unexpected. All her training shouted to push them away, to shore up against weakness, to prepare for the inevitable time when their deaths will be on her hands.

But she could not do this alone. Not with the kids. She could not leave them defenseless. Should the worst happen, they must be protected at all costs. And a hyper vigilant analyst and ever watchful assassin would be appropriate stand ins. Taking a deep breath, she pushed off the door and stepped in the shower. 

Ten minutes later, she snuck up behind Clint, “I am not watching Disney.”

He jumped, blinking at her, “But…Disney is classic! And pivotal to any education.”

“They’re kid movies Barton,” Laura shoved him onto the couch and scanned the movie titles, “We can either go chronologically or random. Wanna pick Tasha?”

She looked over the food selection, picking up Chow Mein. It wasn’t hard to see what they were doing, giving her choices, forcing her to be included, building a relationship. Giving her an anchor and a home. It was sweet, if misinformed. She dropped on the couch, “I don’t really care as long as a cartoon mouse isn’t singing at me.”

“Die hard it is,” she grinned as Clint groaned, swiping the popcorn bowl. 

“We watched that ten times already.”

“Suck it.” She popped the movie in, then wedged herself between Clint and Natasha. “It’s for Natasha and her woefully lacking movie education.”

Biting back a smirk and a mouthful of noodles, she waited until the movie began playing before reciting the first lines perfectly. Her smirk grew more pronounced as both agents whipped their heads around to look at her, blinking in eerie unison. 

“What?” was Clint’s intelligible response.

She raised an eyebrow, “Trained operatives that may need to blend in with a multitude of cultures need to know the basics of said culture, which includes cinema.”

Clint frowned, looking faintly disturbed as he always did when she mentioned her training. Laura was curious, “Is that why you have such a good grasp on idioms? Because I wondered that. Most nonnative speakers struggle despite living in the country for years.”

She posed as a college girl several years back that required her to be up to date on anything they may ask. Her job was all about flexibility and sometimes that bled into long term undercover work. But that wasn’t an easy subject and her bloody history would ruin the point of this evening, so she shrugged, “Knowing an idiom could be life or death for an undercover agent.”

“Okay, sure,” Clint conceded, finally snapping out of his mood, “But what about just because? Of all the movies you’ve seen or researched, what’s been your favorite genre?”

She tilted her head as she thought it over and memories of a warm fire and hushed whispers floated up to her. She smiled, “The old silent films. Plus a few beyond that. True classics.”

“Pay up, hawk guy,” Laura grinned, holding out her hand. He grumbled and slapped a five in her hand, “Clint thought you’d be a Disney fan, but I knew better. Ooh we should watch Strange Bedfellows.”

“How about no,” he said with a scowl, “You are not using that as a metaphor for my life. I’m onto you.”

The night continued in a similar vein, with food and movies and jokes and gentle questions that asked about personality, about humanity, rather than efficiency. The night waned until Clint was snoring in a nest of his own making and Laura was pressed up against her, watching Cary Grant on screen. She peeked over at him and snorted softly, whipping out her phone and taking a picture.

“We should draw on his face,” she whispered as she took another photo, this time from an unflattering angle.

“That would probably wake him,” Natasha said, having no doubt that the assassin would be up in a flash at someone so close while he was so vulnerable. 

“True. Photoshop it is then.”

She watched the young woman start drawing on her phone for a moment before speaking, “Why did you join SHIELD?”

“Spite,” she said instantly, fiddling with her phone settings, then looking up at her, earnest and genuine, “It all boils down to the fact that my dad decided to ignore my existence, so I decided my existence would be to spite him at every turn. That and there’s only so many routes to go when you want to work as an analyst. If i’m gonna work in the government, might as well pick the one that’s top dog.”

“Is he still ignoring you?” she asked, a strange surge of protectiveness washing over her.

“He’s six feet under. And has been for awhile, but, you know, spite outlives us all.” She set down her phone and shifted, turning more attention to her, “Why did you join SHIELD? Other than Clint threatening at arrow point.”

“To protect my children.” The answer came readily. There was no higher goal than to keep her kids safe, “And perhaps in the meantime, I could assuage some of the red in my ledger.”

It would never be completely gone, never be truly finished. She was born of fire and metal and death and that is where she would remain for the rest of her days.

Laura watched her with a calculating gaze, ill fit for the lateness of the hour and food consumption, “Why not disappear then? I mean, you’re pretty good at blending in when you want.”

“It will catch up with me eventually. And better surrounded by those capable of caring for the twins than on my own.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, “What about the dad? He couldn’t do anything?”

Her walls were instantly up, muscles tensing on a microscopic level while her mind starting listing everywhere she kept a weapon and the weak points of the poor analyst before her. Taking a moment to calm herself, she looked cooly back at the tv, “He’s indisposed at the moment. But had he been available, he would be the best choice.”

“You love him,” she said softly, as if worried it would cause Natasha to bolt.

“Love is for children.” The response was automatic, ingrained in her bones. Her hands rested on her stomach, feeling the flutter of movement. 

“It’s definitely simpler for children,” she conceded, stretching with a yawn, “And they deserve it the most. But it’s obvious you care for him in how much you guard his identity, in how you hold him above everything else. It’s not a bad thing.”

Natasha didn’t have a response to that, just watched as she stood and smiled, “I’m gonna head to my own apartment. We should do this again.”

She slipped out of the apartment as Clint nestled deeper in the nest. Natasha leaned against the couch, the movie offering little else but background as she hummed contently. What strange bedfellows indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks deviance from Iron Man 2. In terms of timeline, these events happen much quicker than when Iron Man 2 happened. Get ready for some AU fun!

After Natasha’s revelation, Laura stuck to her side like a particularly stubborn burr. That, in hindsight, was not surprising. Anyone who could withstand Clint Barton on a daily basis, even further, anyone who sought out Clint Barton’s company on a daily basis, clearly would not stop at a semi-reformed pregnant Russian assassin. 

What was surprising was how much Natasha did not mind the attachment. Laura proved herself with a wicked humor and indifferent attitude to hacking into her employer’s records. She quickly moved to the top of her ally list. Only behind Barton due to his initial rescue of Natasha.

Speaking of the archer, she flicked her gaze towards his closed door. He had been absent the past three days. A special ops in New Mexico. Perhaps it was a sign of trust that SHIELD trusted her enough to be out of his sight for more than a few hours. She had only been here two months though, so she doubted the trust was there.

A hand drifted to the slight bulge at her stomach, further proof of life growing inside her. Every doctor’s appointment and new development left her in awe. Even Clint seemed to bounce and prance whenever she told him. This was not the life she was trained for. She was a weapon. A tool. To be used and thrown aside.

A knock at the door jarred her from the mantra and she rose to answer.

If there was one downside to Clint’s absence, it left too much time to think. Despite his many, many flaws, he treated her as a human. Not blinking an eye when she told him she had no preferences. Instead of taking the choice away, he patiently offered her to try out all things, to form opinions and likes. Everything from food to literature. Encouraging her to favor things for no other reason but they made her happy. What a foreign concept.

Coulson was at the door. She cocked her head, “My appointment isn’t until next week.”

The agent didn’t so much as twitch at her unspoken question, “Follow me, recruit.”

So SHIELD business. Curiosity tickled at the back of her mind. She grabbed a coat to mask any weight gain. This coat also had several knives and weapons sewn into the lining, for security risks.

Her curiosity grew when they stopped at the director’s office. Beyond the one day where she laid out her life story, Natasha had not seen the director. This did not surprise her. And she had been grateful. Her mask of straight, blonde hair allowed her to distance herself from the Black Widow persona. Most recruits in her class still hadn’t drawn the connection. Idiots.

Odder still, Coulson did not follow her into the office. Simply closing the door behind her. Her fingers twitched to the knife in her sleeve, but it was the only indication at her discomfort. Her movements grew lazy and practiced as she slid into the chair in front of him.

As before, Natasha did not, would not, start the conversation. He brought her in, he would play by her rules. 

A few minutes of silence as Fury perused a file with utmost ease, he finally glanced up at her, unperturbed by her bored expression, “What are your thoughts on our training, recruit?”

Her eyes narrowed, searching for the hidden question behind his, “Pathetic.”

“Training and torture are not synonymous.”

She shrugged. It was a valid statement. Her training was torture, but she came out stronger and better than any agent SHIELD had. He flicked something on his tablet, “Your training officer believes you’re holding back.”

“I’m not allowed to break bones.”

He offered a noncommittal noise and met her gaze. A bold move. Secrets and tells could be given through a single glance. Director Nicholas J. Fury offered no insight and that, in itself, told a multitude. She remained silent, refusing the bait of asking what he wanted. She spent the last two months with Clint Barton and only increased her patience.

“You’re not ready.”

“I have four months left of the training. Am I dismissed?”

“No,” he closed the file, “Regardless of my opinion, somehow Agent Coulson trusts you. Whatever you may think, this is NOT a common thing. I have a delicate situation that needs to be handled and a normal agent cannot complete it.”

He pushed a folder her way and she quirked an eyebrow before accepting it. A personnel file on a civilian. Tony Stark, billionaire, tech genius, recently outed as Iron Man. She was getting an assignment without even completing all her evals. She would have to rub it in Clint’s face later.

“Outcome?”

“It’s a threat assessment. Intel gathering only.”

She gave him a bland glare. He would waste his resources, her time, on a intel mission, “I’d rather complete the training.”

“Good thing I couldn’t care less.” He turned to his tablet, a clear dismissal, “Agent Coulson will fill you in on the exact details of this mission.”

Natasha rose and exited, taking another file from Coulson, who had waited outside the door, “I am not a babysitter.”

“Good, you’d be horrible at it.”

She raised a brow and glanced through the file, perusing the high level. “Why send me?”

As expected, Coulson was slightly more forthcoming than the director, “It needs a delicate touch. Ms. Potts is familiar with SHIELD and does not tolerate us interfering with her company or Tony Stark. Unfortunately, Mr. Stark is far from subtle.”

“He’s dying.”

“Palladium poisoning.” He punched in a code and allowed her entry into a hallway she hadn’t entered yet.

“Fury said threat assessment. You want to send a pregnant soviet ex-assassin to observe a dying megalomaniac?” She raised an arched brow, daring him to tell her she was wrong to assume there was something more.

He didn’t correct her or deign to enlighten her, “You’re spending too much time with Barton. Is this beyond your skills? Probably. We hadn’t planned on the need to monitor Stark for a few more years. Situations change. Being a SHIELD agent is being adaptable.”

They entered a briefing room and Coulson motioned to a chair while setting up a projector. Natasha slid into one, placing the file on the glass top and folded her hands on it, looking at Coulson expectantly.

Ignoring her pointed looks that were growing in intensity, he played several PR videos of Stark and Pott’s statement during the original Iron Man incident. When those finished, he went over a few more details, then raised a brow at her continued silence.

“Questions, Agent Romanoff?”

“This morning I was a recruit.”

“Circumstances change.”

The look she threw him was both a testament to how much she was not buying his act and how much she had changed over the course of a couple months. “I haven’t passed my psych evals.”

It was Coulson’s turn to raise an eyebrow, “Yes, what happened with the last doctor?”

“Apparently he quit,” she said with a feral grin, which brought out a sigh from the older agent. He passed her a badge with her credentials on it.

“You have an interview with Ms. Potts tomorrow morning at 8 am. Don’t be late.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Virginia “Pepper” Potts lived up to the mantel of Tony Stark’s handler. She was crisp, efficient, and ruthless when it came down to it. To say Natasha was impressed would be a correct statement. 

Of course, it was not so surprising that the woman was cut from a firmer cloth. She was the only surviving PA to Stark. Rumor had it that Stark was planning on making her CEO. Given what Natasha knew, it was again not surprising that he would be making contingency plans.

Adjusting the jacket of her business suit, she looked around the comfortable waiting area. Wall to wall glass did little to aid privacy, but the selection of furniture and plants and a water feature somehow provided comfort and closeness. 

“Ms. Rushman?” Natasha looked up at the sound of her cover. Ms. Potts wore a sweet smile, countered by a severe bun and sharp, clean lines of her clothes, “So sorry to keep you waiting. Follow me to my office.”

She sank into a plush leather chair across from Potts’ desk, fighting the smirk as she argued with Stark at the door. He was offering lewd suggestions and rankings. Apparently Natalie Rushman ranked fairly high on the list of candidates. Her hair now red again in curls down her back apparently boosted her ranking.

Finally though, the overgrown man child was shoved out the door and Potts sighed, taking her seat, “Sorry again. I would state that this is not a normal situation, but unfortunately, when you work with Tony Stark, it comes with his childish behavior.”

“Not at all,” she waved her hand aside, comfortable in her persona, “I’m aware of his antics.”

And aware that it was most likely staged meeting him at the interview. What better way to weed out undesirable behavior than to see how the candidates react to him? Taking a breath to center herself, Potts launched into the interview process, asking inane questions that Natasha scripted out. SHIELD had already attempted to get agents inside before so they knew what she would ask. Overall, she was bored.

Until the last question. “Why should I hire you, Ms. Rushman? You have a fantastic resume and wonderful references, but so many do. What makes it worth my while?”

What makes it worth her time and effort to hire a bimbo that Stark wants to drool over? She grinned, sharp and deadly, “I agree, my qualifications are like many others. What sets me apart, and I hope you don’t mind my frankness Ms. Potts, is that I can be approved by Mr. Stark by my looks. Beyond that, any attempt by him for less than professional behavior towards myself will not be tolerated. Also, I predict that behavior will come to a stop quickly.”

“Oh?”

“I’m pregnant. Due in October. I promise that will not interfere with my work here.” She smiled, forcing it to be soft and lovesick, “And as charming as Stark attempts to be, I am very much attached to the father of my children.”

And just like that, she knew she had the job. An attractive woman immune to the wiles of Tony Stark was a rare occurrence. One that was highly skilled for the job and willing to put up with him even rarer. Natasha could see the wheels turning in her mind. 

“Thank you, Ms. Rushman,” she finally said, standing, “my office will be in touch regarding the job either way.”

“Of course.”

She left Stark Tower and grinned. This would be the easiest assignment she ever received.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible person for posting so late. Have some awesome Pepper & Natasha friendship. And apparently Chapter 6 didn't post?? Sorry!

After reporting on her interview with Ms. Potts, Natasha stalked through her pre-approved halls in search for Laura. She stumbled upon the analyst as she was venturing out from work. Taking pity on her dazed state, Natasha offered dinner at her place. Clint was still out so they could have a quiet, private meal.

“I need you to look something up for me,” Natasha said casually, taking a bite of the Indian food they ordered. 

Laura looked up from her millet and blinked, not fooled by her simple question, “Like, something on Google? A prank for Clint? Please say prank. I got a whole folder of ideas for him.”

“Something on SHIELD servers,” she shrugged. While her relationship with Laura had grown slowly, she had yet to ask a favor regarding her skills as an analyst. She had hoped to save it for something truly needed, but this assignment with Stark was driving her crazy, “Preferably without using your electronic signature.”

“Uh-huh. Right.” Natasha smiled at her in what she hoped was an innocent expression. That was never an easy look for her. Her eyes never could be clear enough. “Don’t even. If I’m immune to Clint’s baby blues, I don’t think your daggers are going to affect me.”

So she missed the innocent look. She let out a puff of annoyance, “I’m just wanting more information than what I can access using my credentials. I can barely get anything.”

“Since you’re a rookie or because of the whole Widow thing?” Laura asked, already pulling up her laptop. 

“Does it matter?”

“Guess not.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard, “Okay, what am I looking up?”

“Palladium poisoning,” she said, rolling her eyes at Laura’s sharp look. “I am not going to poison anyone. And I certainly wouldn’t pick this as my go-to.”

“How encouraging.” A few more clicks on the keyboard and she stilled, frowning deeply, “Uh, okay, found it. Not much there.”

“Does it list a cure?”

“No, just a note that Tony Stark may have the ability to create a cure.” She fidgeted, scrolled down the page, “Oh, here’s a serum that can potentially lessen the effects of the poison. Not a cure, but could stave off the worst while a cure is found.”

Natasha peered around her shoulder, taking into account where SHIELD kept the serum and anything prevalent to it, “Why do they think Stark could find a cure?”

“Necessity? Stark is an engineer, but knows enough about biochemistry to finagle an arc reactor to his chest. I mean, the other option was a car battery, but still. Without a degree, without proper testing, he’s lucky it didn’t explode.” She fiddled with her fork, moving food around in various patterns.

Taking advantage of her obvious preoccupation, Natasha skimmed through the file, “Palladium is the only known source to power an arc reactor. Proximity to his heart indicates it’s pumping it throughout his body.”

“Right.”

“And they expect him to find a new source for it?”

Laura frowned at her question, clearly curious about why she was asking. Natasha wasn’t sure either. She had killed so many. But SHIELD was her second chance. And the first assignment is to watch a man die? What was the purpose of that? Why do a threat assessment of a dying man? If that was the goal, they certainly didn’t need her to do so.

“Biochemistry isn’t my forte either,” she said slowly, weighing each word in her mouth, “But Stark has his genius. He could, theoretically, find a new element if his life depended on it. And it does. So….”

“Could you find the element?”

“Wha...huh? Me? I’m an analyst, Nat!” she waved her fork at her computer, spilling sauce on the keyboard, “I do computer stuff. I read people and break codes. I translate. This is beyond me.”

She returned to her own plate and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, right, I must be confusing you with someone else. Someone else must have given Clint that liquid that turned everyone’s hair blue for no apparent reason. Someone else must have offered their services to medical when that new virus hit three weeks ago.”

“I dabble,” she offered weakly, then let out a groan, “Fine. Fine. I’ll...look into it. No promises!”

“Good enough,” she relaxed in her set, “Now what’s this about pranking Clint?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was simple enough stealing the serum to counter the palladium’s effects. Easier still to spike Stark’s coffee. The difficult part was doing it without his knowledge. Pepper gave her a run down of the building, including the ever present AI. It gave her a chance to dust off her skills.

So as she walked in with coffee that morning, it did not surprise her to find Stark watching her. She dropped cups for the security team and placed one on Pepper’s desk as well then settled in her own chair. He was still watching, twitching like an anxious child. She hid her smirk as she typed in the day’s events and contacts.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Hey Natalie, wanna check out my workshop?” He asked with a roguish grin, looking the picture of ease. She had to hand it to him, for no formal training, Stark did very well at directing the attention he wanted. He may put of the persona of eccentric genius, but someone had to build the Stark empire after Howard Stark's death. 

She offered a bland look, “Are you going to show me your toys?”

His grin turned seductive. Any lesser agent may have fallen for it, but she could see the panic and desperation in his restless fingers and darting eyes, “Why not? Pep doesn’t get to hog you. Technically, I’m your boss.”

“I think Pepper would disagree,” she continued typing, holding up a cup without looking at him, “Coffee?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him hesitate, looking between her and the cup, then blurted, “Pep has me on decaf.”

“Very well,” she took a long sip, this time making eye contact in a challenge. A tick appeared in his jaw.

“So, workshop?” There was a demand in his tone now, a threat. He had guessed at her ruse. Or was removing variables from the equations. It was not a far jump to attribute his sudden health with her sudden appearance, regardless of how long Pepper had been searching for the right PA.

“I’m afraid you have nothing worth showing me,” she said, returning back to her paperwork.

He sputtered, “Ms. Rushman, never have I been so insulted or turned on in my life.”

“Enough Tony,” Pepper called as she entered the office with a stack of paperwork, “Please remember that we like Natalie and I will threaten to quit. I cannot do this job by myself anymore.”

The threat, the careful act he placed over it, all dropped into a pout at her presence, with a hidden layer of undying respect. Did Pepper know just how good she was for him? Did Stark? “I was just offering a tour of the place.”

“She already had a tour.”

“Not personally directed by me.”

“And I would guess that tour ends at the Penthouse?” She raised an eyebrow.

He put a hand on his heart, his arc reactor that was slowly killing him, in mock hurt, “I’m a changed man, Pep. You’re the only woman for me.”

She gave a non-committal hum and turned to Natasha, “Are you supposed to have caffeine?”

“I’m allowed one cup a day,” she said, offering a warm smile. She was not used to the level of care the people around her offered. Laura was constantly buying new clothes for the life growing inside her. Clint pestered her with random pregnancy facts. And now Pepper had taken to make sure she didn’t work too late or too hard, that she always had drinks or snacks, ensuring the cafeteria and breakroom had baby-friendly foods.

Stark’s eyes narrowed, throwing out a guess, “You have a heart condition. Pep, you’re hiring sick people? You know how I feel about sick people.”

“Yes, I do. Sign this,” she all but shoved the papers and pen in his hands, giving a glaring when he began to protest. Once all the papers were signed, she gave a brilliant smile, “Thank you. Stop pestering her.”

Stark stomped out of the office like a child and she shook her head. Natasha offered her a smile, “I know how to handle him. I promise not to break contract with you.”

Which was to say, sleep with Stark. It was literally written in the contract. Any arrangement would terminate the job. Pepper’s smile turned wan and tired, “As do I, unfortunately. Part of my job is keeping him out of everyone’s hair.”

“And you do so marvelously.” She gave a dry chuckle and slid a paper to her. Natasha blinked at the expensive stock and gold ink. Invitation to his birthday extravaganza. She wouldn’t put it past Stark to pen this in literal gold. “Who should I send this to?”

“That’s your invitation,” she said with barely hidden amusement, growing at her shocked expression, “I know he gets a horrible reputation, but Tony, if nothing else, is generous. “

“So it has nothing to do with being a gorgeous dame that he hasn’t figured out is pregnant and out of his league yet?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. Pepper conceded the point.

“With you there I will at least have someone to help fish him out of the ocean when he inevitably goes overboard.”

She snorted, “I’m charging overtime.”

“I would think less of you if you didn’t.” Without a pause she launched into business, discussing strategies and PR issues. She ended the conversation a few hours later by sliding paperwork across the desk.

Natasha took a few moments to peruse it and schooled a surprised look, “Congratulations. You’re practically CEO anyways.”

But Pepper didn’t look pleased at the promotion, simply tired and worried and hesitant. Natasha took two seconds to study her, then stood, “Let’s go to lunch on Stark’s dime. I’m feeling peckish.”

That earned a genuine smile out of the haggard CEO, “I know just the place.”

Pepper led her to a swanky high-rise restaurant overlooking the city. They ordered and Natasha sat back, putting her hands on her stomach and making no effort to conceal her study of the woman in front of her. After a few moments, she asked, “What’s weighing on you? I would think the promotion would be well-deserved recognition.”

“I didn’t take this job for the recognition,” she said with a wane smile, “And I definitely don’t stay for it. I….the timing concerns me.”

“Because Mr. Stark is growing more and more reckless as if he no longer cared for living?” she sipped her water, hiding a smirk at the shock on her face, “It’s not so hard to tell. I do see him on a regular basis and, while I don’t have the past experience, it’s clear he’s on a careless spree.”

“Tony has been through so much,” she started slowly, “And he never stops. He’s manic and driven and many times, desperate. Since the Iron Man incident, he really has gotten better, but….”

“But the last few months he’s slipping?”

“I don’t think he talks about it to anyone. I’ve asked Rhodey and he tells me not to worry. JARVIS is unswervingly loyal, but even he is dropping hints. I expected him to relapse into booze and women but this feels off.” She smoothed out her skirt, picking at imaginary threads and recrossing her legs, “I think the arc reactor is killing him.”

Natasha spent the last few days going over every contingency and every possibility. SHIELD wanted her undercover, due to their unfortunate dealings with Stark in the past and his blase attitude. She knew exactly what they wanted from her. What they wanted her to report. They wanted Iron Man, but not Tony Stark. 

But she knew, even in the little time spent with the man, that the two were not separate. You could get anyone a suit of armor, but you would not get the same results. And just as the two were the same, you could not get Tony Stark at his best without Potts at his side. Without her, he would crumble and fall. So she chose her next course of action carefully.

“Palladium poisoning.”

Pepper’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing, body growing tense, “What?”

She offered a calm smile, “The arc reactor is powered by palladium, which is leaching into his bloodstream and slowly killing him. Without a new source or alternative, he’ll be dead in six months.”

That was optimistic and if she could keep feeding the temporary solution to him. Without it, she doubted he would last the month. 

“How do you know that?” Natasha raised an eyebrow and she sighed, “SHIELD, I should have known.”

“I’m not here to steal his inventions or badger him into a contract. SHIELD noticed his behavior and they’re concerned.” She was stretching it, but Coulson and Fury were definitely playing at something. Coulson was many things, but he cared about people, especially the people he adopted. For better or worse, he chose Stark. SHIELD wasn't assigning her this job to watch him die, “I’m here to make sure the world doesn’t lose Iron Man too soon.”

Pepper straightened and met her gaze, steel and fire, “What do we do?”


	8. Chapter 8

“This is a cinematic classic and you’re ruining it Romanoff,” Laura growled as she dug her hand in a bowl of popcorn. Sprawled on the couch, Laura had ditched her uniform and was now in soft fleece pajamas that offered no protection and little warmth. Why was it so appealing?

Popcorn was raised, but Laura realized who she was attacking and popped it in her mouth. Natasha smirked, “It’s still wrong. You would bleed out by now.”

“I’m never watching crime, action, or spy movies with you ever again. It’s Disney from here on out.” She pouted as the hero did another impossible aerobatic stunt with a gut wound.

A rare smile tugged at her lips in reaction and she sunk deeper into the couch by Laura. It was getting easier, these lazy moments. The teasing and relaxation were slowly becoming peaceful moments in her mind rather than things to fight and rip apart. Laura groaned at a particularly sappy moment and leaned over, landing her head in her lap.

Natasha stilled, fighting the instinct for a weapon, forcing each muscle to relax. Her personal space invader was unperturbed, eyes glued to the screen. It was times like this that she understood Clint a little better. This fragile human, so trusting and open, had an uncanny ability to pull assassins from their darkest moods. Did she learn that from Clint? Or did she cultivate that talent into him? 

“Clint doesn’t mock archery films?”  

“Are you kidding? His entire paycheck goes to arrows and arrow-related activities. Disney’s Robin Hood is his favorite.”

She hummed. The archer in question should be arriving late tonight. Laura claimed she always did movie nights to stay up for him to get home and it was now Natasha’s duty to stay up with her. She didn’t mind. She missed the incessant chatter. 

Another person should have died on screen. Natasha stretched out her legs, “Have you come any closer to a new source for the arc reactor?” 

Laura tensed slightly, only noticed since she was in her lap. “Not really. But I think Stark’s dad was on his way to discovering a new element. I don’t have the files to figure it out. Stark might. The arc reactor wasn’t meant to be grafted into human flesh. And don’t get me started on the car battery. How he hasn’t blown himself up by now, I’ll never know.” 

“He’s had a few close calls.” She examined the question, trying to piece out what caused the tension. If she had her file still, that would have answers for her. “Would this new element power the reactor?” 

She shrugged, eyes glued to the screen, more out of avoidance than watching, “There are no known elements to fix this, so the answer has to be a new element. So why not? Howard was king at secrets and lies.” 

Latching on to that revealing statement, she asked, “What sort of secrets and lies?” 

“The infamous Black Widow hasn’t dug up his treasure trove yet?” Laura was still watching the screen, popcorn long forgotten, tension radiating out of every locked muscle. 

“He’s dead. My job is keeping his son from joining him.” That wasn’t true. Her job was to ‘assess’. He was dying, assessment over. She’d give a better review when she fixed this mess. “From what I can tell, the current Stark would prefer not to join his father any time soon.” 

She offered a non committal hum. Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps I should dig deeper into his past. It might offer better insight.” 

“Probably.” Laura finally peeked over at her, guilt and fear and shame swirling in her eyes.  

“You are not very good at hiding things,” she commented dryly, forcing the analyst to groan and sit up, burying her face in a throw pillow. Another item that served no purpose beyond having it. 

“I’m an analyst, not a field agent.” 

“Subterfuge is a crucial skill for any worker in a secret government agency.” She raised an eyebrow. What if Laura was kidnapped? Tortured for information? Surely SHIELD had something in place to ensure their secrets remained such. Even low level agents could provide information in the wrong hands. 

“I doubt anyone cares enough about my past to start digging that way.” Now she was getting petulant, digging in her heels despite Natasha not explicitly asking for details. 

“Hitting sore points in their past is a good way to get people to trip up and spill something. The more you know about your subject, the more you know how to push them.” It was an excellent tactic to play into their fears and assumptions. She had gotten skilled enough to force interrogations to go her way without lifting a knife. 

Laura clapped her hands over her ears, “I do not need to know your torture techniques. I don’t want to know.” 

That forced a smile out of her, something she wasn’t expecting and left her more than a little unsettled. She pushed it aside to focus on the mystery before her. “I could just hack your file and find out.” 

“That would be preferable,” she grumbled, “Except it’s not there.” 

Interesting. She tilted her head, “I could guess.” 

“That’d be impressive.” That earned another raised eyebrow. A challenge then. She mentally reviewed each conversation they had about Stark, taking in the cursory investigation she did of Howard and what she had observed from his son. 

Pulling it all together was simple enough. Two theories being developed, one being more likely than the other. Natasha let a slow grin form and Laura’s eyes narrowed, “There’s no way.” 

“I am very good.” 

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” Her voice wavered ever so slightly, betraying her nerves. She grabbed her coke to do something. Guns from the movie adding background noise. 

“Howard Stark was your father, a product of one of possibly many indiscretions on his part.” Laura paled, then reddened, turning toward the screen as the muscles in her jaw clenched and unclenched, her hands gripping a pillow. Natasha frowned at the reaction, “Did he know?” 

Her voice was quiet and tight, filled with too much emotion that had been left untouched for many years. “He called my mom a liar. Refused the paternity test, refused to talk to my mom, then kicked the bucket in a car crash. My mom died when I was ten. And then it was just me. By the time I was an adult, I wanted nothing to do with the name Stark.” 

Not exactly true, but she let it slide. “Have you tried speaking with Tony?” 

“And say what?” She rolled her shoulders, desperate to shed the weight of her revelation, “Guess what, Howard wasn’t a lousy dad to just you?” 

“He would probably find comfort in that,” she drawled, imagining the billionaire’s face in the conversation. 

Laura snorted, “Probably. Don’t tell him, Nat. He’s dying, he doesn’t need family drama to dump on top of it.” 

Natasha would not be a very good spy if she offered promises so readily. Although, nothing was stopping her from lying or breaking promises. How much of her past was littered with betrayal and distrust? Still, she had been making an effort to do so less to those she was beginning to grow fond of. So instead of answering she hummed and looked back at the tv, “She’s dead in ten minutes.” 

With an indignant cry, heavy pasts and uncertain bonds were forgotten in lieu of crappy television. One movie blended into the next until Laura was passed out on the couch and Natasha was shutting off the tv. She carefully pried her phone away from the exhausted woman, snorting at the name she had Clint listed under: Hawkguy. 

The last message was two hours ago, after she fell asleep, stating he was on his way. A frown marred her features for a moment. He should have already been here by now. Muttering a quiet apology, she pocketed the phone and went into her room. 

It had been an exercise for Natasha to pour over her new clothes for bugs and trackers. There was one in every six pieces of clothing. By identifying the right clothes, she was able to piece together a wardrobe that would allow her to walk without an electronic trace. She was grateful now.  

Changing quickly, Natasha slipped through the dark halls of SHIELD. Even at the early hours of the morning, it was not wholly empty. It was still more difficult avoiding the cameras. She pressed the jammer in her pocket, hoping the radius was large enough to cover any cameras she may have missed. The fact that no alarms were raised and no one showed to stop her after she exited was a good sign. 

Clint owned an apartment building in Bedstuy. She wasn’t really sure how that happened, but he boasted of being a property owner enough that she was familiar with his place. The building in question was in disrepair and in the middle of gang territory. It was clear that Clint was more meddler than ‘property-owner’. She wondered briefly what fight he caused when he signed the papers. 

Still, he was only partially an idiot. The locks on his doors were adequate and above the norm. At least, they would have been had someone not knocked in the door. The place was trashed. Though it was difficult to determine how much that was the break in and how much was just Clint.  

Then there was his phone perched on top of the chaos. Conspicuous. Next to a note. A plant. Trap. 

She didn’t bother with the note, picking up the phone and calling Laura. 

“Clint,” came the groggy reply. “Where’re you?” 

“He’s missing. I need you to help track him for me.” 

“Tasha?” her voice was clearer now, panic pushing away sleep, “What happened? Where are you?” 

“Clint’s apartment,” she looked around, “If you can call it that.” 

“How did you, nevermind, what do you need?” The faint click of keys on a keyboard filtered through the phone, “No cameras nearby, but Clint keeps a few hidden ones. I should be able to hack them.” 

“Most likely gang activity. I need you to location the nearest cell.” 

There was a pause, “Right. Of course. Uhhh, Russian gang. They hole up in a warehouse in Queens. Oh, there’s the cameras.” 

This time, the silence was pained, punctuated by ragged breathing, “Laura? Phillips, get a hold of yourself.” 

A low curse. She wasn’t listening. 

“What are you seeing?” 

Her phone dinged, a video sent to her. “You have to find him Nat. He put up a hell of a fight but he doesn’t have back up.” 

“He does now.” Strangely, she meant that beyond just this moment. “Send me the address to the warehouse and track cars he was taken into.” 

“Yeah, I can do that.” 

“Laura, he’ll be fine. I’ll bring him back.” 

“I know.” Another beat of silence, “Thank you. I’ll text you with anything I find.” 

After hanging up, she sent a brief text to Coulson. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but a nagging feeling that felt suspiciously like respect demanded that she inform him. He couldn’t stop her. He could demand her back to base and tell her off, but she would return with Clint or not at all. The least she could offer is where she stood. 

After a beat, his response was both surprising and not: _Understood. Keep me informed._  

That bore thinking over, at a later time when she wasn’t dragging Barton out from a drug dealer.  

The hovel they stashed him was rank and hidden, and the guards sloppy and dumb. It was mind-numbingly easy for her to get in without notice. Once all was said and done, Clint was going to beat himself up for getting kidnapped by such dumb idiots. 

The archer in question was tied to a chair, the dark not giving enough light to show injuries, but Natasha felt it safe to assume he was bleeding out. His head was lolled to the side, but he was breathing. And that all that mattered to her at the moment. 

_Need medical,_ she texted Coulson, providing an address. Then launched into action. 

Part of her training was dance. Battle was a dance. Seduction was an art form. Her handlers trained and perfected the form of their ballerinas with the skill and master of the harshest drill sergeant. The results were both beautiful and terrifying. In moments such as these, Natasha relished in her training, her grace, her instincts. The men of the warehouse were down before they could even register a threat. 

All but one. The leader. The one that targeted Clint in the first place. She let him see her, let him draw conclusions with her red hair and deadly poise. Her gun was drawn and steady as he spat at her in Russian, _“Should I be honored? To be visited by the Black Widow? Mother Russia’s greatest creation.”_  

She smiled, slow and feral, her body between him and Clint, “Nyet. _You should beg for mercy.”_  

Rather than shoot to kill, her bullet found a new home in his shin. He cried out and fell to the floor, his gun clattering beyond him. She stepped forward, eyes glinting, dangerous. Fear finally clawed at him as harsh breathes punctuated his broken English, “This not your fight. The spy fights against homeland.” 

She leaned forward. She would not kill him. He would deliver a message for her. “This man is mine. Come after me or mine and you will join your men.”

Sirens were coming closer, flashing lights contributing to the meager bulb in the room. The man was now sweating. Another man burst in, another henchman. Natasha raised an eyebrow. He paled, then rushed to his boss. She didn’t bother stopping them. Instead, she backed up to Clint, cutting through his bonds.

“Tasha?” his voice was faint and slurred. His face was covered in blood and grime. A quick scan and she knew the gut wounds were the highest priority, but the strange blood on the side of his face was concerning as well. Rage filled every bone in her body and she wished she tortured the man more, left a more permanent mark.

“You’re safe Clint,” she said, hoping her voice was soft and comforting, hoping it mimicked all the times he did the same for her, “We’re getting out of here.”

In startling clarity, Natasha Romanoff realized just how compromised she became for this man that offered her home. Even worse, she did not care. She would burn the world down for the man that pulled her from the flames.


	9. Chapter 9

Natasha straightened papers on her desk, organizing details for Stark’s birthday. Apparently, it wasn’t a party without three dozen supermodels and a literal fountain of alcohol. It was extravagant and pointless and utterly frustrating. She shared many long looks of exasperation with Pepper and they increased in frequency as they got closer. Now, the day before the party, her patience had run thin.

Part of her relished in the tasks and frantic energy that was Tony Stark. It kept her busy. It kept her mind on task. It kept her from thinking about the past month. About her rescue of Clint. About his recovery.

Because Clint Barton was deaf.

Deaf through ear drum puncture from his own arrows. Whether that was the aim or not during the scuffle that led to his kidnapping is unclear. They were trying to subdue him. He only went down when that happened. And now he was deaf.

He was not coping well.

And that was an understatement. Laura was at his side constantly, yelling and throwing hand signals at him whenever he got particularly moody. Natasha tried, but even she had a limit to the sullen bratty attitude he was determined to stick with. An angry huff left her lips as she hit her keyboard with a little more force than necessary.

“Wow, bad date?”

Speaking of brats, she looked up at her boss, pasting on a saccharine smile, “Can I help you Mr. Stark?”

He took a step back, blinking, then narrowed his eyes, “I want milk chocolate not dark.”

“Is that supposed to make sense to me?”

“For the party. The chocolate wall.” Of course, how silly of her to think it would be anything else. She made a note, then raised an eyebrow.

“Anything else?” She did not have the patience to deal with the man before her. In addition to dealing with the fallout from Clint losing one of his senses, she was also digging through Howard Stark to find the new element and working out a way to introduce Laura to Tony. Laura was adamant against it but was also thoroughly distracted with helping Clint. All missions she gave herself. There was freedom and strength in that.

“Only my heart,” he teased, “C’mon Ms. Rushman. You’re not immune to my charms.”

“Not even in your dreams.” She shut down her computer, packing up her things to leave, only to have the billionaire stand in her way. She raised an unimpressed brow.

“Hypothetically,” he started, staying in her way, fingers twitching, “If this is your last birthday, how would you want to spend it?”

She blinked at the random subject, staring at him for a long moment. He was running out of distractions, running out of time. Her response was careful, measured, honest. She met his gaze, “I would covet the time I had with those closest to me.”

It was too close to an emotional response. He shut down, offering a rakish grin and shrug, “Boring. I’ll walk you out.”

Knowing better than to argue, she agreed and determined it was time to get him to back off. She shrugged off her jacket, showing her protruding belly in a tight but flattering blouse. Thankfully her foray into Russian mob territory left her without a bruise. Laura had been insistent that she be checked out after Clint had been brought home. Coulson even had her preferred doctor on hand. 

The only outward reaction she got from Stark was a widening of his eyes and a head tilt as his brain computed what he was seeing. He blinked. “You’re not married.”

She hummed, “No, I am not, but I am pregnant. Good day, Mr. Stark.”

He blinked again and she strode forward to the doors, grateful when he didn’t stop her. She slid into the elevator, watching the doors close until Pepper managed to sneak in at the last moment. The young woman gave a warm smile, “JARVIS, shut down surveillance in the elevator for a moment please.”

“As you wish, Ms. Potts. I must inform you that Mr. Stark does not take kindly to covert meetings.”

“I’ll explain it to him later.”

Natasha sent a narrowed look at the speakers, skeptical, then looked at Pepper, “I couldn’t help but notice you have been…tense this week. And given all that you have done for me, I thought I might offer what help I could.”

That was…unexpected.  “I assure you I’m fine.”

“I know I can’t really deal with SHIELD,” she said, unconvinced of her tone. “What little I’ve gotten from Phil has been enough to know that they deal with a lot of gray areas that are classified beyond normal means. I can be a listening ear though. Or, offer you a day off from babysitting Tony?”

This was kindness unlooked for, proof of life beyond the Red Room and training, evidence of Natasha rebuilding who she was beyond a weapon. She would never take her up on the offer for a kind ear, but it was generous nonetheless, “Thank you. I’m fine. I’ll meet you at the party later.”

Pepper looked ready to say more but the elevator opened and Natasha took the escape, faltering only to look back at her, “Tony should look into Howard’s old things for an answer to his reactor issue. There may be some clues there.”

She blinked and Natasha was gone, disappearing without a sound despite her high heels on tiled floors. She wasn’t sure if Pepper had approached Tony about him dying yet. Considering nothing had blown up and he was still acting like a college frat boy, she suspected not. No matter, that was their issue. 

Natasha grabbed some food and then went to the med bay, where Clint had yet to be released and where Laura made camp for the last week. Sure enough, Laura was stuffed in a corner with her laptop on her knees. She looked up at her approach.

“How is he?”

“An overgrown manchild. An idiot. So you know, the same.” She gave a weary shrug. “He tried walking out, forgetting that, you know, losing your sense of hearing makes your balance go all whacky, and he also got kinda stabbed and shot. He threw up. Pulled stitches. Fell over. Then cussed out the nurse left to pick up his horrible hide.”

Pursing her lips, she nodded, “Any luck with the files I sent you?”

“From Stark? Nah, but there’s a video that makes me itchy.” She yawned, “I’ll go over it again tonight.”

“Get some food Laura. I’ll make sure Barton stays put.” The analyst grumbled but snapped her computer shut and stuffed it in her bag. She gave a halfhearted wave and shuffled out. 

With nothing else holding her back, she entered the room. Clint was propped up in bed, the glazed look in his eye suggested painkillers or sedatives. Even high and disoriented, he glared at the nurse adjusting his IV. 

“Mr. Barton needs rest, Agent Romanoff. Perhaps you can stop by later.”

“He’s not going to be resting with the drugs in his system, so it’s really pointless to argue the point,” she said with a smile, “Perhaps giving him that much control would make him a bit more compliant.”

The nurse squinted at her, “I’ll discuss it with the doctor.”

Clint watched her as she walked over, but refused to talk. Good. She wasn’t in the mood for his chatter. And he needed to listen. Watch. Whatever.

She snapped her fingers, the sharp movement attracting his attention, then signed slowly, making sure he had no reason to say he didn’t understand.

_ You will snap out of this. You are not a whipped dog. You are not useless. And this petty tantrum is wearing thin.  _

She could see his jaw clenching as the words sunk in, wanting to refute them. Flicking his arm, she repeated them, this time asking for confirmation.

“Geez Nat, why you gotta hit a man while he’s down?” he asked, the words slurring a bit as he rubbed the spot she hit. Her expression conveyed enough violence for him to acquiesce, “Okay, yeah, I get it.”

He wasn’t cured. There would be days he would slip and fall but she would be there to yank him back from the edge. Laura would be there to pick up the pieces. He would be okay. Seeing the edge still lingering in the back of his eyes, she took his hand and slowly placed it on her stomach, directing him to where the twins were kicking. 

His eyes widened and gained that sense of wonder that always occurred with her pregnancy. It was a gift. A gift born out of blood and death, but a gift nonetheless. Her children would be loved and protected and allowed to be children. And the man before her and the woman that loved him would be there to help her. 

Clint shifted to place his other hand on her belly, watching her closely for signs of discomfort. She had broken at least three wandering hands that attempted what he was doing now. Still, it did what she wanted to, distracted him from his own pain. Settling on the bed, she allowed herself a small smile.

“You gonna name one Clint Jr. right?” He leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m gonna teach you all how to shoot a fly and terrorize your mom.” 

Giving him a slight swat on his arm, she spelled out,  _ James and Anya. Clint is a ridiculous name. _

“Yeah, true. James and Anya huh? Very...American.” She shrugged. They would be Americans. And she would let the Russian die with her. There was nothing she would bring back over from her homeland. Nothing she would have them carry. “James and Anya. Jim and Annie.”

“Absolutely not,” Laura said as she stepped in, her mouth half full. She shook her head in disgust. “You are not naming your kids Jim and Annie.”

Clint may have missed the words, but the gist was there, he offered a lopsided grin, “I like it.”

Pulling away now that Laura was here to distract, Natasha stood and stretched, “I have to get ready for the Stark party. Apparently he wants it grander than his last expo and expects me there two hours early to prepare. Next time Coulson gives me an assignment like this, I’m defecting.”

Laura tilted her head, food hanging from her mouth as an idea hit her. It was in these moments that Natasha could see the Stark in her. She may take after her mom in looks, but Laura had Stark brains. “The Expo!”

Food went flying as she dove for her bag. Furious typing and and curse words later, she jabbed at her screen and shoved it at her, “I need this!”

In the grainy photo was a scale model what she assumed was a previous Stark Expo. Not really sure of it’s importance, but trusting her to know, she shrugged, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Maybe not the full model. A full picture though. High def. Wait! I got it. Go have fun at your party. I’ll do your job and save Stark from himself.”

Clint threw her a questioning look and she shrugged, “Later Laura. Keep Clint distracted.”

The young analyst blinked and shook her head, “Right. Sorry.”

Laura occupied her spot on his bed and began signing in earnest, smacking his hand as they reached for her fries. Natasha smiled and slipped out.

Stark’s party was grandiose and not her taste. She spent most of it near Pepper and reminding herself to check her strength as she batted away men and a few women. It was a complete waste of time. Though the food was exquisite. The only plus side was that she did manage to convince Tony to let her try out the repulsors. The kick back was stronger than she was expecting, but the controls intuitive. If need be, she could control the Iron Man suit by overriding JARVIS. 

And to top it all, the party ended with Tony plastered and punchy and Colonel Rhodes stealing a suit. Stealing was not the right term. She watched the entire fight. He was not as drunk as he pretended to be. He was giving the suit away, another contingency. He was getting closer to dying.

Repressing a sigh, she unlocked her apartment, barely pausing at Coulson sitting at the kitchen table.

“Heard the party was a smash.”

She hummed, kicking off her heels, “I planned on debriefing in the morning. Later in the morning.”

The clock on the wall read 2:37. It had been a long day and her feet were swollen and her back ached, but apparently they were doing this now. “Seems like our timeline has been pushed up. We need your assessment of Mr. Stark.”

“Which one? The one you’re looking for or the one I built?” He didn’t even blink, just offered a bland smile and blank eyes.

“We need your honest opinion.”

She grabbed a drink from the fridge and sat on the couch, propping her feet up and keeping within reach of four weapons, “He’s narcissistic, compulsive, and self-destructive. But he’s also a dying man desperate for something to live for. And his kindness is covered up by the fact that he cannot seemingly stop himself from stepping out of the spotlight. Ask Rhodes or Potts or his driver why they are loyal and they won’t be able to explain it. But he is generous and overly so, just stunted from a lack of appropriate role models in his childhood.”

“And Iron Man?”

“There’s a difference?” She raised an eyebrow and he conceded the point. Standing, he pulled out a folder and handed it to her.

“He’s being considered for a position on a team of people with extraordinary abilities that would act as a specialized unit to deal with events beyond the norm. Given your assessment, would we be able to create the suit and provide it to a more amenable person?”

She flipped through the papers, taking in all the information she could. The Avengers Initiative. Cute. “No. Either recruit Tony Stark as Iron Man or don’t bother.”

Coulson nodded and headed for the door, “Good job Agent. Complete your contract at SI. We’ll talk about field ops after your maternity leave.”

“And Stark?” Were they really telling her to drop it after all this time? Because he ended up on some major new coverage?

“Time to step in a little more aggressively. I’ll be calling Potts this week to offer our services and giving him the push to fix this. We don’t want the world losing Iron Man too soon, do we?” His voice was perfectly bland and his smile practiced. The unflappable agent. Unless someone was pregnant. Why was it so hard to read him?

With a mounting headache, Natasha slipped into bed and let the problems wait until morning.


	10. Chapter 10

“Up, up, up!” Laura pushed into Natasha’s room the next morning and yelped, “Don’t shoot!”

She cracked open an eye, not having moved beyond raising her arm with a gun in hand. It wasn’t technically her gun as she was still on the no weapons list. Coulson had signed her out a weapon as she went out as Natalie Rushman and conveniently forgot to sign it back in. She procured several weapons that way.

“What do you want, Phillips?” she asked, returning the weapon back to its hiding place and stretching. 

“I figured it out! Plus, Clint’s being released and being tetchy about it. So I decided to let him get home on his own.” She slumped on the bed, undisturbed by having a weapon pointed at her moments before, “But more importantly, I figured it out.”

“Figured out what?” She took a cup from Laura, frowning at the hot tea. She forgot Laura didn’t drink coffee. With a disgruntled acknowledgment that pregnancy was making her weak and she was over it, she downed the tea and checked her phone. She slept later than she expected and missed a few texts from Coulson and Clint.

"The expo. You know, the element, Howard? It’s not a solution, but preliminary results show it could be. I’ll forward it to Stark and he’ll have it whipped up in a flash.” She beamed, dark circles showing she spent all night trying to get it done. Despite what she said, Laura wasn’t ready for Tony to die. Everyone wants closure.

“Can you make it? Without SHIELD knowing?”

Her grin dimmed, “Why?”

A hunch, instinct. Natasha didn’t think it would be wise to allow Tony to be indebted to SHIELD. She looked back through her messages, “Preferably in the next day or so.”

“Yeesh, no pressure. I don’t have a private lab, Nat. I can’t exactly manufacture new elements in my bathroom.” Still, she could see the gears working, trying to come up with a solution.

“I’ll get you in Stark’s lab then.” That would be surprisingly simple. Stark’s security on his lower level labs was atrocious. “Without him knowing even.”

Laura squinted at her for a long moment and she just offered a bland smile. “Fine, fine! Ugh, I should’ve stayed with Clint. Give me two days and I’ll have it ready for him.”

“How about one and you can shove it in his heart yourself?” Laura made a face as Natasha pulled her hair back and grabbed a new set of clothes, “I’ll send you the codes to get in the lab.”

It didn’t take two days for Laura to work together a solution to powering the arc reactor. It took 16 hours. Sixteen hours and she shoved a small computer like chip into Natasha’s hands and the command to let her sleep. Offering a sympathetic pat and not so gentle shove towards her apartment, Natasha wasted no time in heading to the tower, changing directions when she noticed Pepper on the phone.

“No, I understand. Thanks Phil. Oh! Natalie just got here.” Pepper cocked her head in confusion, hair and suit pressed as if she didn’t spend most of the night worrying her boss was working himself into an alcoholic stupor, “Sure, here she is.”

With a raised brow, she took the offered phone, “Coulson?”

“I didn’t realize you were going in on your days off now,” he commented lightly.

“Turns out a left a few things in the office. So silly of me,” she said in an equally light tone. There was a breath of silence as he waited for an explanation. Perhaps a lesser agent would have done so. She was not a lesser agent, nor did she ever plan on becoming a person who needed to explain herself.  

“Interesting,” he said, though he was no flat and annoyed, “Fury wants you to meet him and Stark in a diner off Route 95.”

“I thought I was finishing my contract.”

“As a fully recognized SHIELD agent. In case Mr. Stark misses the point of the conversation today.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’ll have a driver pick you up. There should be a briefcase and file for you to review on the way there.” The conversation ended with a click and a frown. She stared at the phone for a moment before handing it back to Pepper. 

“Is Tony alright?” The question came out weary. How many times has she had to ask that question? How many times has she had an honest answer?

Doing her best to offer a comforting smile, she said, “I’m on my way to pick him up. I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”

Her attempt at comfort didn’t work. Clint kept telling her to stick with bluntness instead. Still, Pepper gave a resigned nod, “Phil sounded stressed. Although he’s always a little stressed when it comes to Tony.”

“Arn’t we all?” Her phone buzzed with the car pick up, “I have a feeling I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I’ll order Greek then. Or perhaps some Thai?”

“Greek is fine.” She waved her off and slid into the black interior of the car. As she expected, the briefcase included a vial of lithium oxide that Natasha had already been spiking Tony’s drinks with. SHIELD was pushing him to act, to pull himself together. Interesting that Fury was making a house call. Leaning back, she considered her options. 

This was a test for her as much as it was for Tony. Fury was expecting her to do as he said, in gratitude for not killing her. But the gratitude was Clint’s, not SHIELD. She only accepted this position out of limited options. Coulson was safe, not quite an ally but willing to look the other way. Since her rescue of Clint, that had developed into begrudging respect. Perhaps with the option of something more. 

But SHIELD with all its grandstanding for the greater good was still a covert operation that employed less than stellar people to do not so clean jobs. It was no different than her time alone, taking side contracts. Better funded and better company, but still operating in the gray, in the shadows and lies. 

So she could play the perfect spy, the right hand to Fury, the perfect weapon that she had been crafted for. Or she could do the bare minimum and look out for her people: Clint and Laura and apparently now Tony and Pepper. 

The car rolled to a stop just as she reached her conclusion. Stepping out into the muggy August heat, she walked in confidently, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from Tony and pouring a shot, then dumping the vial in, making no effort to hide her actions.

“Drink.”

His eyes narrowed, “I knew it. What are you, a triple spy? The spy to end all spies?”

She held out the glass in mute response, her eyes narrowed. Tony did not look well. Even worse than he did at the party. Black veins crawled up his neck above his shirt. He had gotten smart and stopped drinking her spiked coffee. Idiot. Fury was watching her closely but she couldn’t seem to care. He so much as twitched towards his gun and she would have a knife in his sternum.

“I don’t like being handed things.”

“If you don’t drink,” she said sweetly, “I’m stabbing it into your neck. I’m guessing you don’t like being stabbed either.”

He squinted at her, pursed his lips, then downed the shot in a big gulp. To her odd relief, she watched the black poison fade. That mission complete, she sat next to Fury in the booth, sliding the file to him as requested.

“So are you actually pregnant or was that a lie too?”

He was hurting, lashing out like a wounded animal, and she was the closest target. Having spent a month playing the same game with Barton, it was surprisingly easy to let it roll off her back, “With twins. Neither will be named after you, Mr. Stark.”

He huffed. Fury gave her a look, annoyed at being ignored. She didn’t deign it with a response, falling silent as he read through the assessment she gave Coulson the night of the party. Except this one skipped over anything positive. Smart move. Manipulate him while he was broken and dying, force him into a better mold that they could later use. Too bad she wasn’t playing their game. 

She remained silent for the rest of the conversation, barely reacting when Tony threw insults at her. The chip burned in her pocket, ready to be used. Not yet. Not here. Not with Fury. 

Finally, Fury gave a grandiose statement about the Avengers Initiative and getting his act together, then swished his cloak to his car. How did he not have a heat stroke in all that black leather? He looked at her, raising an eyebrow, then shrugging as she made no move to join him. Tony could ditch her at this diner, he was in his suit, but she had a feeling he wasn’t about to let her betrayal go without some retribution first. 

“So still assigned as my babysitter?”

She gave him an unamused look, “No, Agent Coulson has that privilege later this afternoon. Unless you can convince him otherwise.”

“And how, Ms. Rushman or whatever your name is today, do I do that?” His eyes darted, hands jittery despite the suit. He probably felt better and had more energy than he had in a long time. 

“I need a lift. Ms. Potts is ordering Greek when we get back.” She stood and sauntered our towards his ridiculous sports car.

“Pep, wait, hey!” He scrambled after her, metal and wires groaning. Ignoring, she forced herself in the car, pursing her lips at the small interior. “I’m not giving you a ride.”

“Then I’ll drive.”

“I’m not giving you the keys.” She gave him a flat stare and he grouched as he got in the car, “Fine, whatever, road trip with a betrayer, there are worse things. But let’s drop the pretense that you were ever working for me.”

“Very well. Does that mean I’m calling you Tony?”

He looked at her like he would a particularly nasty puzzle, then shrugged as he turned on the car, “Yeah why not? And what do I call you?”

“Natasha.” She shrugged, “Agent Romanoff if you’re feeling sour.”

“You have been spying on me and writing notes to the principal. Not exactly buddy material. You’re so fired.” Yes, Fury did a good job ruining her image to him. Still, she wasn’t doing this for their approval.

“That’s not up to you. Pepper is my boss.” She gave him a little smirk, leaning back in the chair. He grumbled. “If it helps, I came with an apology gift.”

He glanced over, looking her up and down, “I am in a happily monogamous relationship and don’t do that kink, Romanoff.”

“Not even in your dreams Stark.” She fished out the small chip. “This should replace your core without any nasty side effects.”

That shocked him. He blinked, then snatched the chip, glaring at it to give up its secrets, “JARVIS?”

“It appears to be an unknown element, sir. But basic diagnostics infers that it could be a compatible source to the arc reactor.” His eyes narrowed at her and he stuffed it in a socket in the console. 

“Full rundown J. The works.”

“Of course. And might I applaud you sir in your discretion of testing it before putting it somewhere vital?” Natasha’s lips twitched. If she didn’t know better, she would assume the AI was a living incarnation of the butler it was named after. She rested her hands on her stomach, finding solace and strength in the life moving beneath her skin, watching New York traffic in a blur. 

“What does SHIELD want for this?”

“As far as they are aware, this doesn’t exist.” He had no reason to trust her. No reason to believe she wasn’t lying. Still, she offered no explanation. He could take it or leave it. 

“What do you want for it then?”

“I could use a lifetime supply of high tech hearing aids, but as I said, this is an apology.” And the long game of his protection over her children, but that was better left unsaid. SHIELD would and could only do so much in helping her. She needed help outside SHIELD. It was better to keep from becoming dependent on only one company as well. And a deep buried part of her that the Red Room tried to burn from her whispered that she admired this man before her. He was loyal and honest and clawed his way from a pit of hell not unlike her own. He was a showman, capable of weaving masks as clever as her own, all through his own making. 

A long silence where he frowned at her while tapping on the steering wheel then he finally spoke, “Yeah, alright.”


	11. Chapter 11

_ I am going to murder him,  _ Pepper texted Natasha a few weeks after her conversation and gift to him,  _ one more apology gift and Stark Industries is going to be Potts Industries. _

Natasha smirked, stretching out on the couch. It was her day off, although it seemed like it wouldn’t be for much longer. She glanced up at Clint. He was having a bad day, beer in hand, watching the TV listlessly. His new hearing aids were tossed on the table.

Sending a quick,  _ I’ll handle it,  _ to Pepper, she flicked a knife at Clint, letting it embed itself in the wall behind him. It wasn’t even close to hitting him, but it served its purpose. The archer swore, spilling his drink, “What the hell Nat?”

She gave a pointed look at his hearing aids and waited until he reluctantly put them in before speaking, “What is it this time?”

“What’s what?” She raised an eyebrow, “I’m fine. Can’t walk without getting dizzy, but whatever.”

There it was. She had forgotten he had rehab this morning, which always put him in a sour mood. He glared sullenly at the tv again, ignoring her unimpressed looks. With a huff, she got up, stretching and hiding a grimace. She had forgotten how useless the final stages of pregnancy made her, how weak and defenseless. Walking over, she yanked the knife from the wall.

“Laura will be here in an hour. Try not to ruin her day like you’ve ruined yours.” He grumped in response, avoiding her gaze, like the mature adult he was, and tore out his hearing aids. Despite hating being deaf, Clint hated the feeling of something in his ears. On his bad days, he couldn’t stand the hearing aids. 

She was also not an idiot. Clint and Laura were both acting weird around each other, most likely because they slept together and then proceeded to act like it never happened. Not that either of them told her. For an analyst and spy, they were horrendous at hiding things. Still, Natasha did not sign up to help them deal with this. They were adults, they could figure it out.

Sending a warning text to Laura, Natasha slipped out, leaving him to wallow. As she stepped into a car, she sent another text to Tony,  _ Whatever you’re planning on buying Pepper don’t. ETA ten minutes. _

_ Stop hacking JARVIS! _

Tony was predictably inside a high end jewelry store, hovering over particularly gaudy pieces. She slipped up behind him, “Pepper really will quit if you give her a diamond ring.”

He jumped, glaring at her, “I’m not proposing. I’m apologizing. And that means going all out.”

He leaned over a case with diamonds and pearls winking back at him, the salesman jittering at the thought of selling the three inch thick choker. Natasha pulled him back, “You might as well buy crown jewels if you’re looking to go big. Again, Pepper will quit should you do that.”

“Huh, I wonder what country she’d like. You can help me pick those out, right?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, as if seriously considering which country he was going to rob.

She offered a sweet smile that bordered on feral that creeped Clint out, “I could easily get you crown jewels.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Legally?”

“Free of charge.” Her smile didn’t falter, but he was clearly rethinking the whole venture, “Pepper doesn’t need crown jewels.”

“Nobody actually needs those, I’m just thinking she deserves them.”

Annoyed by his determination to ruin his relationship and the salesman that was fluttering nearby, she grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the store, “You’re overthinking this. Get her a gift she’ll actually like and move on.”

“Chocolate-covered strawberries?”

She rolled her eyes, “She’s allergic to strawberries.”

“Oh right,” he scowled, “A giant plush rabbit.”

“No.” They walked down the road, Tony stuffing a hat and glasses on his head to avoid cameras and fans. She linked her arm in his, diverting attention even further, “Stop trying to assuage your own guilt through gifts and just do something from you. What do you do when Pepper has a bad day?”

“Spa day package,” he answered automatically, “She likes feeling fancy, but hates going out. So foot massage, cucumbers, goopy masks, all that.”

“Why not do that?” Tony was overthinking it. She noticed the pattern a few times. When he wasn’t trying to be generous, he could be very thoughtful, offering gifts that had personal attachment. When he tried being overtly generous, his brain short circuited and apparently went to giant plush animals.

“Because this is an epically bad week, month, year,” he waved his hand in an etcetera gesture. “It deserves something special.”

“Stark,” she pulled him to a stop, forcing him to look at her, “No price tag or gift is going to erase the fact that you lied to Pepper and hid the fact that you were dying from her. If you’re really jonesing to fix that, pick her favorite restaurant, buy her a new outfit, and sit down and talk with her.”

He fidgeted, scowling, “Fine, whatever. We’ll do sushi.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha started walking again. Before she could tell him to get his car, she froze, the hairs on the back of her neck raising. They had ventured beyond the fancy shops and crowds and were approaching the opening of an alley. Her eyes scanned for the source of her discomfort, searching for anything out of place.

Faster than she could blink, a shadow detached itself from the wall and knocked Tony in the back of his head. He stumbled forward, whirling around to his attacker, but said shadow pulled him into a headlock.

Natasha’s hand went for the knife she always had on hand, but another shadow grabbed her wrist. A woman this time. Natasha kicked back, pulling out her knife and facing her assailant. Tony would have to take care of himself for the moment. The unknown girl gave a haughty smile and attacked. Her mind whirled for possibilities. She was not limber or flexible at eight months pregnant, and had a high disadvantage at being more vulnerable. But this woman was arrogant and unfamiliar.

Natasha threw one knife at the girl, testing her reaction. She moved swiftly, smoothly, too smooth for American training. Russian then. Before she could reassess, a cry drew their attention. Fear clawed in the back of her mind, a panic that months of training ensured was easily ignored.

“Put the knife down or I kill your friend.” The man was holding Tony tight, a gun to his head.

The woman grinned, facing her, “Surrender Widow. Or we kill him and your children.”

She looked at Tony, there was fear, but also resolution. His right hand was splayed out and as she watched, he curled one finger, leaving four left. A countdown. His suit was on its way. She just had to stall for time. And get answers. 

“Your boss would be disappointed in losing the test subjects.” It was a gamble. Attacking her at this stage was risky. She was weak and easier to manipulate, but they could also lose her kids, their weapons. Waiting another nine months was costly and risky. Inwardly, she cursed for letting herself relax.

The woman shrugged, “More can be made once the Widow is in custody. You have made yourself weak. You must return to base for retraining before it affects the next generation of weapons.”

Three.

“You’re an agent. Foolish to show your colors now.” 

“Who will tell? I will return and tell the director all about how I was attacked by the assassin he thought to reform.” She grinned. Two. “After all, who would believe the Black Widow could be anything more than a tool for Mother Russia? We will bring back the greatest creation and be rewarded for it.”

One. She could see it in the distance. Slowly, Natasha grinned,  _ “Blizok lokotok, da ne ukusish.” _

She timed it right. The suit crashed into the man in an attempt to get to Tony and she used the distraction to throw her second knife. This one landed in the woman’s leg. The man shot off before the suit formed around Tony so he turned to the woman, raising his repulsors, “Sorry, you were saying?”

She spat at him, yanking the knife out and lunging. Natasha grabbed at her wrist, narrowly missing the bloodied blade. She fought like a drowned cat, but with Tony’s help she was able to secure her wrists and tie up her leg.

“Well, that wasn’t fun.” Tony snarked. Natasha took a deep breath, leaning against a nearby wall. She needed to call Coulson and Clint. She needed to breathe. Her heart hammered in her ears. “Uh, you’re bleeding.”

He climbed out of the suit as she looked over herself in panic. Just a cut on her arm. Despite the brash words, the attackers hadn’t struck with any lethality. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, no. JARVIS, scan of the lovely agent here.”

She glared at him, but it was pathetic. She pulled out her phone, dialing Coulson first. Her hands weren’t cooperating. Tony snatched the phone from her. JARVIS spoke from the suit, “Elevated blood pressure and heart rate indicative of high stress and panic. Without full power, it’s difficult to further assess her state, sir.”

“Give me back my phone, Stark.”

He waved her off, million dollar smile in place, “Double agent’s answering service, we need someone to pick up a package in the form of one sleazy agent. You can pick up Romanoff after she sees the medics at the Tower. Thanks!”

He tossed her the phone and she scowled, raising it to her ear, “Coulson?”

“Agent Romanoff? What’s going on?”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, trying not to think of what would have happened had she been alone or with Pepper or Laura, “We had an altercation. We subdued one agent, the other got away. Need a clean up crew.”

“Understood,” his tone was clipped as he gave a few orders to those on the other end, “Stark mentioned medic?”

“Just a cut.” She was fine. She survived worse scraps as a child, so much worse. Yet for all the training and experience, she could not get control of her emotions. Needing to reassure herself more than him, she forced out, “I’m fine.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to be checked anyways. I’ll let Barton and Phillips know.”

A car pulled up and she grabbed her knife. Tony waved her aside, “Just our ride. Yeesh, how many knives do you have on you?”

Six, but that hardly mattered. The real question was why didn’t she have a gun on her. That would be corrected. And soon. For now, she let Tony shuffle her into a car and then into a small medic office in the Tower. They looked her over, gave her strange looks when she said no to blood test and drugs, then gave her three stitches and a bandaid. 

Through all that, Tony hovered and paced. Pepper hovered for a bit, then rushed off to a meeting. “Spit it out Stark.”

“You get kidnapped often?” he asked, still hanging out by the door, clearly uncomfortable in a hospital setting. 

“I wasn’t kidnapped. But in the spirit of that question, yes, that happens often. They’ll try again.” With startling clarity brought on by panic and adrenaline, Natasha knew what she had to do. For the first time in a very long time, her heart ached at the inevitability. 

“Right, of course.” He stuck his fingers in his hair, sticking it up in a mess, “Russian, should’ve guessed.”

With a sigh, she pulled out a small thumb drive from the lining of her jacket, “My file. It’ll explain more than I can.”

He eyed it warily, “I already saw your file.”

“Hacking into SHIELD?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, “Good, keep them on their toes. This is a personal file, holds more than the one that SHIELD has.”

Gears were whirring in his mind, she could see the questions and theories building, pulling the pieces together. She set the drive on the table, trying not to smirk at his reluctance to pick it up, “I guess I have homework.”

“Only if you’re curious,” she grinned, knowing full well he was dying to know now. “Shoo Stark. I'll call a ride and be back at work as usual tomorrow.”

Unwilling to let it drop, but unwilling to venture farther into emotions, he seized the dismissal and strode out. The doctor came in and cleared her to go but before Natasha could escape herself, Laura Phillips was glowering in the door. Resigned, she sat back down and waved her in. This would be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I read this headcanon that Natasha is the daughter or granddaughter of Anastasia, last of the czars, and let me tell you, I'm here for it.


	12. Chapter 12

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” Laura launched herself at Natasha, hugging her tightly. As if remembering who she was hugging, she yanked back, “You are okay, right? The doctor said just a cut? Twins are fine?”

With a smile, she put her hand on her stomach, a sense of peace washing over her as one of them moved, “Yes, they’re fine.”

“Avoidance, but I’ll let it slide.” She joined her on the bed, “What happened?”

“My former employers finally caught up with me.” The thought of how close it could have been still sent shudders down her spine, “I’d rather wait to go into details until Clint or Coulson gets here though.”

“Right, sure, I can small talk. Clint’s probably gonna be here soon anyways, he was arguing with Phil about getting his clearance back when I left.” She looked about the room, eyes darting to each piece of tech, “Can’t believe I’m in Stark Tower. Wait! Not the subject I wanna talk about. Babies. Babies are safe. Have you settled on middle names yet?"

Natasha threw her a smirk, tempted to ignore her pointed glaring by addressing the elephant in the room. Rolling her eyes, she said, “James Alexei but I’m not sure about Anya.”

“What about Alianova? Russians pass off their names, right? Or was that Italy? China?” Laura settled back on the pillows next to her, relaxing now that her sore subject was dropped.

Icy hands grabbed Natasha’s heart and she had to grip the necklace under her shirt for reassurance. It was time. Past overdue really. She should wait for Clint, but she needed to know, needed the promise that her children would be safe. That it would not happen again.

“No, I can’t use Alianova. I already have a child with that middle name.”

Had the situation not been so dire, she may have laughed as Laura clearly short-circuited. She blinked, opened and closed her mouth several times before managing a sputtered, “What?”

“Her name was Sasha Alianova,” she pulled out the necklace, opening it to a small picture of her lost child, “And she lived an entire year before succumbing to an illness. That’s what the records said anyway. They had already ripped her away from me by that time.”

“I don’t understand,” Laura whispered, cradling the small photo like a bomb, eyes blown wide and fingers trembling, “I don’t understand.”

A weight of a thousand heartbreaks pressed on her. The life inside her fluttered as if feeling it as well. She sighed, “Did you think it odd that a Russian operative would suddenly break out of control? They tried to wipe her from me, erase that she ever existed. And when I realized she died and I wasn’t there, I burned them and their room to the ground and never looked back.”

A million thoughts were running through her mind, Natasha could see that much. A million thoughts and theories and questions begging to be asked. Instead, her words were a surprise, but typical fashion, “Why are you telling me now?”

“So you understand what I have to do to keep my children safe. To make sure their blood is not on my hands.” She could trust no one else. Laura and Clint were the only ones able to share this burden, to ensure the twins would live happy and free.

“What are you going to do?” Her voice was a strained whisper, as if knowing the answer before she had to ask. 

“When James and Anya are born, I need you to take care of them,” she said simply, letting it sink before delivering the blow, “while I turn myself in.”

Laura jerked up from the bed, pacing the room, pulling at her hair, “Are you insane? No!”

“The Red Room will return for me. They will not stop until I am dead or in their grasp.” Natasha gripped her arm to get her to stop, to force her to pick up on the seriousness of the situation, “If they get James and Anya, they will face a fate worse than death. This is the only option.”

Franticness was replaced with grim determination and she thought it was done. Instead, Laura jutted out her chin and said, “No. I refuse to believe the nuclear option is our only play. I can barely wrap my head around having my own kid. By the way, I found out I’m pregnant today. With an idiot’s baby. Although, my own strand of idiocy isn’t much better. So no, I’m not going to be a mom of three with only Clint for guidance. Oh god, my kid is doomed. No.”

“If you want me to be surprised about you sleeping together, you’re going to be disappointed.” The kid was a surprise. She thought they were both better than that. 

“And like a couple of backwoods teenagers, we forgot protection and got knocked up. Whatever.” She waved her hands dismissively, “We’re not focusing on that right now. You’re not dropping your kids like a parcel off to the nearest barely adults and going kamikaze. Stark can help with protection right? He was handy today. And we’ll up the SHIELD protect detail.”

“It’s neither of their issues. Stark is not my employer and SHIELD is only pretending I’m of use.” She worked it out already. It wasn’t an easy choice. It never was. But at least she had a choice this time.

Laura growled, “Let’s ignore SHIELD for the time being and focus on Stark. Those kids are going to be my niece and nephew which means it’s a family issue.”

“Except he doesn’t know you exist,” she raised an eyebrow in challenge. Laura was adamant about her stance with Tony. 

But the fierce analyst narrowed her eyes, “Fine, I’ll call your bluff. Stark has that creepy AI watching the entire tower, right?”

“Yes,” she said, returning with her own skeptical gaze. “JARVIS.”

“Right,” she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She looked Natasha dead in the eye as she spoke, “JARVIS, inform Tony Stark that he has a half sister. Her file can be found in server 8.1.A heading Philips. And I don’t give a swinging monkey about his fortune or company but if he doesn’t help protect Natasha’s kids I’ll sue him for everything he’s got."

There was a beat of silence before the AI spoke over hidden speakers, “Information relayed. Welcome to the tower, Ms. Philips.”

“Whatever,” she crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow. Natasha’s move now. She let out a deep sigh. Before she could speak, a disaster in the form of Clint Barton stumbled through the door.

“I’m here to spring you, since Laura Ly seems to be failing that. You ready?” He grinned at the both of them, but there was an edge. His argument with Coulson went poorly then, or he was hating the fact that he felt useless. He hadn’t picked up his bow since the accident. Whatever the reason, it kept him from noticing the palpable tension between the two women.

The drive to base was silent, each one dealing with their own storm, caught up in the whirl to care or notice the unusual silence. Once there, Laura stormed to her office and Natasha found solace in her room, a flimsy door between her and the rest of the world. Bruises were forming from her fight and her body ached as her mind reeled. If Laura and Clint would not accept her children, a third option must be found. She overestimated her allies willingness to help and felt very much alone.

Still, it wouldn’t be the first time Natasha was alone. She didn’t break then. She wouldn’t break now. 

The storm finally broke the next day. Natasha was cleaning a newly acquired rifle in the living area when Clint plopped next to her, a boneless sack jostling the couch. He had been out all day, presumably pestering Coulson about his status as an agent. Judging by the restless fingers and dark eyes, he was unsuccessful in his venture. She didn’t acknowledge him, focusing on the weapon in her hands. 

“Apparently you need a medical release to take your recertification,” he grumbled in lieu of a greeting. She gave no response. He rolled his head toward her, a puppy dog pout in place at being ignored, “So Phil threw me out and told me to stop acting like a child. Naturally I stuck my tongue out at him.”

Natasha put down the barrel of the gun and finally turned to him, glare in place, “What do you want Barton?”

All teasing and joking dropped from his face in an instant and she was suddenly wary of the archer. With all his ridiculous comments and childish antics, it was simple to put away the deadly assassin he was, had been. He wore his humor like an armor, just as she shed emotions. But as quickly as the intensity came, it was gone as quickly. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

“Laura was wrong. Russians use patronymics. Which, okay, I may have googled, but whatever. So...dad’s name is Alex? Alexei?” He peeked over at her, but she kept a calm mask. “I have already told Laura that my name needs to die with me. Cuz seriously, who names their kid Clinton Francis?”

He didn’t look at her as her whole body tensed, waiting for the storm to settle or thrash. Her movements of cleaning the gun grew sharp and brittle. With a sigh, he continued.

“I forgot a lesson in Clint Barton’s School for being a functional adult.” He huffed out a breath, “Maybe cuz I hate the lesson. Fear makes us human, Nat. Fear reminds us that we’re still alive, still here. But you’re not alone, so please stop acting like it.”

Putting down the gun, Natasha took a deep breath, “I have to protect my kids Clint. Whatever it takes.”

“Dumping them with us isn’t the answer.”

“You think I want to do this? You think there’s really any choice?” A feral growl tore from her and she pushed down the urge to pace and seethe, “They will come again. And again. And again. They will leave death and destruction in their wake until all that is left is the weapons they hoped for.”

He held out his hands in surrender, his movements slow and calm. “You’re scared, Tasha. I get it. But abandoning your kids is the easy out and I’m not letting you do that.”

“Easy?” her voice dripped with poison as a glare that killed lesser men pinned Clint. In response, he bristled.

“Yeah. You leave them with us and then jump off the cliff. You don’t get blamed if they’re kidnapped. You don’t take responsibility for messing them up or failing to protect them. You did your ‘duty’. You get to pretend you did all you could when all you’re doing is pushing it off to someone else. Being a dad terrifies me. I’m not cut out for this. But I’ll go through hell before I let you think you shouldn’t be a mom.”

Her body trembled with pent up tension, her mind whirling as she recalled every training and torture to keep her body still. He reached out, then thought better of it. Good move, she was in a stab first, ask later mood. He leaned forward still and let any humor that normal inflected his words and movements drop, “We’ll get a safe house, off books. We’ll make sure anyone digging finds six different locations and five different names. We’ll bury this so far that SHIELD looks easier to break into. Your kids will be safe, I swear, but you have to stay here to see it through.”

Fear clawed at her heart still, but the steady solemn gaze of the archer settled something within her. She was weak to have these connections, to care for the man before her and the woman that held his heart. She was weak to stay. But maybe it was the easy answer. No, not easy. Simple, correct, what her training told her to do. She was still playing by their rules. Clint watched her for confirmation and she slowly nodded. It was time to play by her own rules. 

Moment over, Clint slouched into the couch, “You think Laura will move out to a barn in Iowa?”


	13. Chapter 13

Things were… better after that. For the most part. Clint wasn’t able to get a doctor to sign off on his recertification so he used his spare time to haunt Natasha. He kept to trees and buildings and she felt marginally safer that the eyes on her were not all hostile. If he saw the threats she noticed in her walks to Stark Tower, he made no mention of it.

Clint and Laura were currently arguing, which meant they were not talking with each other but complained to Natasha separately. Clint wanted to hide Laura away to a remote location with limited technology access to prevent spyware. Laura told him to stuff his head up a sewer. So Natasha did the sensible thing and looked into housing. Something she had already been working on and already had several houses. The attack reminded her that she had grown too soft, too complacent. It was vital to secure multiple places and plans for every contingency.

“He wants me to be without WiFI, Nat. WiFi! I’m not asking him to give up coffee.” Laura grumbled in the morning as Natasha tugged on a shirt. She managed to procure to small pistols hidden on her person. Difficult given her position, but not impossible.

“You’re not leaving New York,” she acquiesced, “But SHIELD might not be the best option anymore.”

She winced. They hadn’t told Coulson of the idiotic move that left them as parents. Probably holding off until Clint was back in action, unlikely soon given his surly mood. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to be some housewife locked up in a house.”

“Be a contractor. Your skills are invaluable, SHIELD can still utilize you while maintaining protection for the kids.” Unfortunately as the only non-field agent of the three, she had no choice but to remain with the kids when it came time for them to go out. No others could be trusted. 

She let out a sigh of resignation, “True. Maybe Phil will let me be tech support for your strike team. Then I can yell at Clint when he does something dumb.”

“Like not being assigned would stop you,” She grabbed her bag, another gun hidden along with three knives. SHIELD was providing escort to work today. Coulson would be accompanying her, “You’re going to have to tell SHIELD eventually.”

Letting out a huff of air, she draped over the overstuffed chair, “I know. Clint is avoiding it cuz Phil’s gonna light into the both of us. This… I didn’t want this.”

Neither did Natasha. But kids were not a death knell. Her children are the only reason she was human again. The only reason she was still alive. She paused at the door and looked at Laura fondly, “Maybe not. But you cannot change where you are. Figure out the best scenario that fits the conditions and make it happen.”

“That was ... oddly inspirational.”

“Don’t tell Clint.”

“Never.” Natasha waved her off as she left, finding her carpool easily. She slid into the back seat with Coulson. 

“Agent Romanoff.” he greeted, inclining his head in lieu of a handshake. He handed her a folder, the slightest twitch to the corners of his lips, the only indication of his amusement, “This should go into effect after your maternity leave.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him and flicked it open. Strike Team Delta. Hm. It had a nice ring to it. Really, they wouldn’t put her with anyone other than Barton so it wasn’t much of a surprise. Anyone else would end up dead, either by her or by negligence.

“Of course,” he drawled, “We’ll have to time missions the first year anyways since it seems Agent Barton will be needing time off in several months.”

“Do me a favor and put him out of his misery then,” she said, flipping a page to view the support the team would have and the classification. It didn’t surprise her that Coulson knew Laura was pregnant. Nor that he would force Clint to come to him, but the unflappable agent didn’t have to deal with the fallout. Or the incessant moaning from both parties.

“That would be up to Agent Barton.” She raised an eyebrow at him and rolled her eyes as he just stared out the window.

“Put Phillips as the tech lead for the team. She can handle that as a contractor and will not claw out anyone’s eyes trying to get information about the missions that way.” The car slowed in front of the tower and she opened the door.

“Romanoff.” She paused, glancing at him as she put on sunglasses. He hesitated, an unusual show of agitation or nerves, “Strike Team Delta is being built based on my reputation alone. You don’t play by SHIELD rules and Clint is a loose cannon. Throw in what will be a contractor with highly personal investment and this is a team that should not work. Should anything go wrong in these missions, I will not hesitate to eliminate the threat to my people.”

She threw him a grin, sharp and deadly, “Likewise Coulson.”

She admired Coulson for his loyalty to Clint, to the unwavering dedication to keeping him safe. She spent several nights combing through the missions he went on before being sent to take her out and came to two conclusions. One, while Clint was a walking disaster in every situation, he was an exceptionally skilled marksman and frighteningly good agent for no formal training. Two, there was someone within the organization that did not like him. Multiple people most likely. There were too many ‘mistakes’ for it to be a coincidence.

So she appreciated and understood Coulson’s wariness and protection. He probably only trusts a handful of agents. Natasha was not a safe bet, but she would join in the protection detail and relish in the protection it provided.

The hairs on the back of her neck raised as she entered the tower, just as it had for the past month. Eyes on her. It was only a matter of time before they struck again. She slipped into the elevator and let out a sigh of relief as she settled into her desk.

A side effect of her training, her stolen childhood, is that pain rarely registered for Natasha. It was so ingrained to ignore discomfort and hurts that she accumulated over missions. As long as she wasn’t bleeding out or walking on a broken leg, she let the pain roll off her. This was helpful during her pregnancy as aches she didn’t know she could have popped up. She took it in stride and continued on.

That said, Natasha had not considered labor pains. 

So as she gathered her things and prepared for her escort home, it was a complete surprise when her water broke.

“Do you have the reports of-” Pepper stopped just inside her office, eyes going wide, “Natalie!”

Her exclamation broke her out of whatever stupor she fell into and she shook her head, “Apparently I’m starting my maternity leave early.”

That helped release some of the tension out of the CEO, but she still had a death grip on a folder, “Apparently. Let me call security, we’ll head down to the medical suites.”

“Not an option.” Now that she was focusing, she started counting the pauses between contractions and winced. Her mind raced at all the unknowns. She would not be surrounded by strangers. Not with her children. She could make it to SHIELD. “Grab my bag, I’ll let Coulson know of the situation.”

Before either woman could move, a security guard entered and seemed to panic at the sight of a woman in labor. A sharp command from Pepper broke him out of it. “Ma’am, I’m to escort you to the penthouse. There’s a slight altercation in the lobby.”

It was Natasha’s turn for a spike of panic. They had to be watching her in the office somehow. Could they have slipped something to her that induced the labor? She shook her head. Speculate later. Kids safety was priority.

“I don’t need an escort up. You’re dismissed. Natalie, with me.” With the efficiency belonging to the CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper grabbed her arm and led her to the penthouse suite. Once alone she whispered, “You really need a doctor.”

“Babies are born outside hospitals all the time,” she said, waving off her concern. Natasha had prepared for this possibility. She had everyone ranked according to how helpful they would be in labor. Pepper wasn’t ideal, but if she kept her head, she would be able to do what needed to be done. At least until help arrived.

Speaking of, she pulled out her phone and was terse as they entered the elevator, “Coulson. Operation New Recruits in progress.”

There was a long pause and the sounds of possible shots in the background, “Understood. Do not exit the Tower. SHIELD is engaging hostiles.”

“Need a medical professional. One I’ve met and signed off on.” She held back a smirk. Coulson had not been amused when Natasha handed him a list of people she trusted as midwives should it be required, only for his name on the list. 

“You’re a worse pain than Barton.” The line went dead and she clenched her teeth at a particular bad contraction. They reached the penthouse and Pepper was ushering her to a bed. The poor CEO hovered uncertainly.

“What can I do?”

“Hot water. Towels.” She pulled out a knife, laying it on the end table, then put a gun beside her. “Can JARVIS monitor the babies?”

“I can endeavor to do so. Ms. Potts, perhaps you can procure the self adhesive monitors Mr. Stark keeps for emergencies in the living room.” That sent her scrambling out the room while Natasha got comfortable on the bed. She returned and placed two on Natasha as per JARVIS’ instructions. He then rattled off various facts for childbirth that made Pepper pale a bit.

“I should have taken a few classes.”

Natasha offered her a smile, “I just need you to catch.”

That apparently was not the right thing to say, but she hadn’t passed out yet. Natasha had no doubt in her mind that Stark would be drooling in the carpet by now. The next thirty minutes ticked on by JARVIS’ random updates on the situation downstairs and how far along she was. Pepper hovered between her and the door until she gave a quick command to sit.

Suddenly JARVIS went silent and the elevator door opened. Natasha had her gun aimed as she breathed through her contraction. Coulson didn’t even blink.

“How far along?”

“5 centimeters. Put JARVIS back online.” He nodded as she stowed the gun.

“Oh thank you sir. That was quite inconvenient.” If it hadn’t been an AI, Natasha would have thought he was glaring at the unflappable agent. He pulled off his jacket and ignored Stark’s creation.

“Ms. Potts, would you be more comfortable in the kitchen? Perhaps you can get some tea?”

She shook her head, “I’m here for Natal...Natasha. What can I do to help?”

A swell of pride rushed through her at the declaration, the dedication of this woman she lied to for several months. She pushed it aside to focus on the situation at hand, “What’s the status of downstairs?”

Where’s Barton, she wanted to ask. She needed his chatter, his distraction, his ability to pull her focus from the terrifying possibility of now. Coulson pursed his lips for a moment, clearly weighing the options of telling her the truth. Something in her expression pushed him towards honesty. Good man, “Two prong attack as far as I’m aware. First, large scale attack on the lobby. Used some civilians to force their way in. Not many agents to counter, but the security was holding them back. Second was an infiltration of the medbay. Agent Barton was handling that. Best solution was removing you, but you’re further along than expected. Having no medical history, it concerns me.”

“Hmm.” Looking the part of a bored supermodel rather than a woman in the throes of labor, Natasha began typing on her phone, “JARVIS, access file 030808.srb encryption key 7fht9q2.”

There was a brief moment while Coulson squinted at her and Pepper appeared with ice chips, which she took gratefully, “Thank you for the file, Agent Romanoff. Based on these records, and the knowledge that second pregnancies are shorter in labor, I would estimate roughly 38 minutes of labor left. The biggest concerns would be complications due to a failed sterilization attempt.”

She looked at Coulson blandly, willing every emotion under lock and key, not a simple task with her hormones rollercoasting through her body. His lips thinned, but he refrained from commenting, “Right, let’s get this ready for the twins. Ms. Potts, if you would.”

Natasha Romanoff would not remember the next half hour. She would not commit to detail the sweat on her brow or the growing discomfort. She would not recall Pepper helping her breathe or Coulson keeping her calm. 

Everything was eclipsed the moment a child was set in her arms, only to be followed by his sister. In that moment, staring at her wrinkled creations, Natasha felt the world stop and settle. The mark of new life forever imprinted upon the earth. They were hers and they were perfect and they were all that mattered.

A flurry of people filtered in and out. Tony announced his home had been violated and he now had to bleach the entire building. Pepper swatted him, then leaned in, taking in the sight of the new family. Clint, battered and bruised and victorious, stared down at the new life in awe. Laura was squeamish and terrified and hopeful, a hand on her stomach, soon joined by an archer’s.

“Good work, Agent,” Coulson whispered as he slipped out of the room, unnoticed by the rest of the occupants. 

As she stared at the twins, untarnished, radiant beacons of light in her blood-soaked world, her heart stuttered, “Welcome home, James and Anya.”


	14. Chapter 14

**One Month**

“What about this apartment?” Natasha shifted the computer over to Laura, picking up James as he began to cry.

She looked it over, frowning and making notes, “No, too small.”

With a huff, she got up to get a bottle, warming the water. They had been attempting to find a new safe house for three weeks. The current living situation, a place Coulson had secured, had two bedrooms and a small kitchen. Clint was on the couch more nights than not and the twins woke everyone up when they cried. 

“If you want the space and want to stay in the city, you need to be okay with the expense. Didn’t Stark offer an apartment?” A scowl from the analyst told all she needed to know about Stark’s offer. “What about just outside the city?

**Two Months**

Natasha waited, the apartment silent for a moment, baby in her arms as she rocked. Her eyes darted from the life sleeping in her arms to the door. An alert set up on her phone buzzed, the door opened.

Clint dragged himself in, shedding articles of clothing and shoes. He flopped on the couch with a halfhearted wave at her, missing her pointed look. She stood, careful not to jostle too much, then nudged him with her toe, hard.

He hissed, glaring at her and looking warily at Anya. Asking her what through signs instead of his voice.

“Up,” she commanded quietly. When he sat up, she sat beside him, “Open your arms.”

He hesitated, looking like a man about to carry a live bomb. “Barton, hesitate another second and you’ll get broken ribs instead of a child.”

His arms held out in automatic response to the threat. Settling Anya in his arms, she got up and checked on James. He was still asleep, but should be waking soon for lunch. Tension left her shoulders at her son’s sleeping face. They were safe. They were here. They were healthy. 

Checking back in on the archer, Natasha found he had settled as well, but still held himself stiffly. “She is not going to suddenly combust.”

But she misread the situation, a rarity for her. He looked up at her with such anguish, “I’m too messed up to be a dad, Tasha.”

She sat beside him again, pressing into his side. Clint was a tactile person, seeking comfort and love through gesture and touch. While she was hardly one to seek out the same comfort, she could adapt for him. Putting a hand on his arm, she whispered the words she whispered to herself every day, “The blood on our hands will not transfer to them. Can’t you see? They cleanse us more than any good deed could.”

**Three Months**

A piercing scream tore through the air. Natasha was out of bed, knife in one hand and gun in another, in a flash. Every shadow was a threat, every breath a hostile. Another cry rent the air, softer this time, quieter.

The twins. 

She rushed to the cribs. James, her normally calm and quiet babe, was twisting and crying. 

“Shh, малыш, shh.” She reached in and drew him close, her body beginning to rock in automatic need to calm and quiet him.

“Nat, you okay?” Clint whispered from the door, sleep dragging his words.

“Yes, go back to bed Barton. We’re fine.” Sinking into the rocking chair, she checked his fever. It had broken. The worst was over, “We’re okay.”

**Four Months**

“I am not naming our daughter Phillipa. Just stop.” Laura folded baby clothes and took a peek over at James and Anya on the play mat, ensuring they hadn’t rolled over. Clint pouted.

“What about a middle name? Don’t you want to honor Phil not killing us when we told him?” Natasha smirked, not looking up from her tablet. Clint was only pushing so hard because he bet he could get her to agree. 

“No.” He sulked and passed cash over to Natasha. She grinned and split it with Laura, “Easiest money I ever made.” 

**Five Months**

Natasha packed a bag, ensuring all her knives and guns were cleaned and packed. She slipped a garrote in her sleeve and stuffed an earwig in her ear. Laura popped her head in the room, “Have you gone insane?”

“Not since the last time you asked, twenty minutes ago.”

“You’re leaving your kids with me, the one who can’t even manage to buy milk?” She bounced Anya, eyeing her like a particularly nasty code. “You’re leaving me outnumbered and feeling like a whale.”

Natasha gave a kiss to James, sweeping her hand through his dark hair. Her heart twinged at the thought of leaving them. She went over the plan, the security detail, the protections in place. She had to do this. Her kids were important and the mission her and Clint were given would ensure their safety for a little longer.

“You do great with them. Consider it practice.”

“I hate you.”

**Six Months**

“I will kill you Barton, just try it.” Clint froze at the Laura’s snarl, eyes wide as he carried a box of kittens into the small house outside NYC. 

His shoulders hunched, “But babe, someone just dumped them on the side of the road! I watched them throw out the box myself.”

“We are about to have three babies in this house. You are not bringing in every stray you find to add to the collection,” she growled, unpacking a box of linens. 

Natasha watched in amusement as she fed Anya. James was snoozing with a full stomach in his carrier as the adults attempted to make the house a home. She looked down at her daughter, six months yesterday, at her dark curls and blue eyes, “Your aunt and uncle are ridiculous, милая.”

Laura’s sharp eyes turned on her in irritation while Clint slid in more, offering a stage whisper, “I don’t remember you being so angry at this stage of pregnancy.”

“Be grateful Laura doesn’t have my skill with knives,” she said as Laura seethed, “And pray she doesn’t ask me to castrate you before your daughter arrives.”

Clint paled and gulped, “As I was saying, I’ll just take these to the shelter. Hey, maybe Hill needs a cat.”

He all but ran out of the house, passing Coulson on his way in with a box. Laura huffed, “I’m going to bury him in the backyard.”

“Might I suggest a hot bath instead of homicide?” Coulson drawled, putting the box down on the table. She took the hint, presumably because it was Coulson who suggested. You did not ignore him lightly. She disappeared into the master bedroom and the sound of running water filled the space.

Natasha placed Anya on a hastily constructed play mat. “I thought we got the last box.”

“You did. This is ...a gift. The first mission for Strike Team Delta was overwhelmingly well done and helped smooth a lot of ruffled feathers.”

She raised an eyebrow and opened to box. It was filled with children’s books, both American and Russian. She had a limited supply of books. With the desperation to move, getting back into the field so quickly, and adjusting to life of twins, Natasha only kept the bare minimum of toys and books. She picked up a worn copy of Russian folktales. The barest spark of memory washing over her.

“I know you have expressed raising them American, but their heritage is nothing to be ashamed of. I also met a babushka couple years ago that hit me over the head with how important stories are for children.” He rubbed the back of his head in fond memory as she gripped the book.

“Thank you,” she managed, before closing the box quickly along with the growing horror of emotions.

**Seven Months**

“Nat, I’d like you to meet Lila Renee Barton,” Clint proclaimed proudly, holding a tiny bundle in his arms. He no longer held a child like glass, but there was still a deliberate care in his touch. 

Keeping an eye on the twins in their playpen, Anya had taken to crawling very quickly and enjoyed trying to smother her brother, she held out her hands for the beautiful new life. Laura smiled and shuffled to the couch, exhausted and overwhelmed. 

Natasha traced a finger on the tiny hand, murmuring a blessing to the child. Laura leaned in, “What was that?”

“A scolding for not naming her Natasha,” she said with good humor. Clint huffed and the new mother’s eyes crinkled in delight, “But a good name regardless. Welcome to chaos, Lila Renee.”

**Eight Months**

There was a yelp and suddenly Natasha had a frantic archer underneath her desk. She raised an eyebrow at him and he returned it with a sheepish grin.

“Don’t tell Hill I’m here.”

“What property damage did you inflict this time?” She returned to her paperwork, filling out the report for the latest mission. Her phone chimed with a photo.

“Hey, that taco bell was already on fire when I got there!” He huddled under her desk more, pulling his feet from view. Before she could make a retort, Maria Hill stormed in, soaking wet.

“Where’s Barton?” 

A hand grabbed her ankle, squeezing in a pleading motion. Pursing her lips, Natasha flicked her eyes upwards. Clint often escaped to the vents when things went sour, which was often. With a growl, Hill stalked off.

“You owe me,” she said, pulling up her phone. Laura sent a post lunch photo of the three kids, messy and gleeful. “Which I will collect now.”

She shoved her paperwork at him. He groaned, “C’mon Nat, I hate paperwork!”

“Too late.” She grinned and shoved her phone in her pocket. “See you at home.”

**Nine Months**

“This was a horrible idea!” Clint yelled as they ran down back alleys. “The world is ending, I never think it’s a horrible idea!”

She grunted in approval, taking a sharp turn. Curses in Spanish followed by gunshots dogged their heels. She was going to kill Coulson. “Warehouse in ten. There’s a window at ground level.”

He nodded. Ten paces, another turn, and they were momentarily out of sight. Clint slid in the open window, Natasha at his heels. They slipped in the darkness, pressing against a rank wall. Feet ran past and disappeared, the shouts and shots growing distance. Natasha pulled out a flashlight, examining the structure they found shelter in.

“Up to the roof, then follow me. I have a safe house, off books.”

Clint sighed in relief. He stretched and then faced her, covered in grime and blood, thankfully none of it his. He grasped his arm, “We’re going home to our family Nat. I swear it.”

She grinned, “Copy that Hawkeye.”

**Ten Months**

Natasha lingered in the shadows of the lobby, her hat low over her eyes, the grip on her stroller as deadly as the grip on her gun. She could not shake the feeling of eyes, of ears, of whispers.

“Tash, I’m begging you, chill, you’re making me nervous here.” Laura’s eyes darted across the room, they made it to the elevator without incident.

“Welcome back to the Tower Agent Romanoff, Mrs. Barton.” JARVIS spoke once the doors closed them off, “Mr. Stark is eager for your arrival.”

Their first outing. Their first public appearance. Natasha didn’t have enough firepower. Laura eyed her as she bounced Lila. The doors opened to a grinning Pepper and sulking Tony.

Pepper cooed over each child in turn, but did not offer to hold them until Laura all but forced Lila into her arms. Laura had that way, sensing when others needed the push and when they needed the space. Her sharp glances and quick mind ensured she could read people. 

Tony hovered on the periphery, clearly lost on how to handle a child. Natasha grabbed his shirt and placed James in his protesting arms. He instantly went still, his eyes full of wonder as much as the baby. He turned his bewildered gaze to Pepper, “I want one.”

**Eleven Months**

Natasha balanced a child in one arm and a computer on her knees. A movie played on in the background and the smell of cooking dinner filled the small space. Clint was huddled in a mass of pillows and blankets, nursing a bad cut from the last mission.

“No way, I don’t believe it.” He shook his head, making his nest tremble.

Laura dropped a bowl of pasta in his hands, another child on her hips, “Hill is going to be deputy director, I give it five years.”

“Hill? Maria Hill? She’s too green. I mean, ruthless, but green.” He turned towards Natasha, desperate for confirmation.

She raised an eyebrow, “What’s the wager?”

Laura grinned, “A month of laundry duty.”

“Make it two. Hill will be deputy in three.”

**Twelve Months**

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday James and Anya, happy birthday to you!”

The twins giggled and screamed and squealed. Birthday cake splattered on all three kids. Clint held a video camera and Laura was desperately trying to wipe sticky hands and faces. Tony fiddled with a robot meant to monitor sneaky children while Pepper watched from his lap. Coulson stuck to the back, nodding along to the festivities. 

Natasha soaked it all in, this patchwork family of hers. There were still days that ached, days where the past did not stay silent or impassive. Days of fear and anger and death. But those days did not linger. In the light of these days, where laughter and joy prevailed, her past seemed inconsequential, her enemies conquerable. 

Her eyes slid to a photograph on the wall, the twins first sonogram, the picture that saved her life. It was nestled in a shadow box, a closed locket artfully placed on the bottom. What an insane journey from that moment, where safety and hope seemed out of place and unreachable. Other pictures scattered around the wall, a life being told through still moments. A thousand stories displayed and a thousand stories waiting to be experienced. 

“Nat, come get in the picture!”

She smiled, soft and amused, and joined her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! I loved writing this story. And it's not over. I have a few one shots in the series and then a multi chapter that stars the Avengers. Let me know what your favorite part was and what you want to see more of!


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